Callisto Silver as Sara Crewe
by BeautifulDesertFoxglove
Summary: Callisto Silver, a pupil at Miss Black's London school, is left in poverty when her father dies, but is later rescued by a mysterious benefactor. Based on Frances Hodgson Burnett's novel, A Little Princess.


**Title: Callisto as Sara Crewe**

**Author: BeautifulDesertFoxglove**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except Callisto and Circe.**

**Summary: Callisto Silver, a pupil at Miss Black's London school, is**

**left in poverty when her father dies, but is later rescued by a**

**mysterious benefactor. Based on Frances Hodgson Burnett's novel, **_**A Little Princess**_**.**

**Chapter 1: Callisto**

Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick

and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted

and the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-

looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven

rather slowly through the big thoroughfares.

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her

father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window

at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness

in her big eyes.

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a

look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a

child of twelve, and Callisto Silver was only seven. The fact was,

however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and

could not herself remember any time when she had not been

thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged

to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made

from Bombay with her father, Captain Silver. She was thinking of

the big ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it,

of the children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young

officers' wives who used to tried to make her talk to them and

laughed at the things she said.

Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that

at one time one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the

middle of the ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle

through strange streets where the day was as dark as the night.

She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.

"Papa," she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was

almost a whisper, "papa."

"What is it, darling?" Captain Silver answered, holding her

closer and looking down into her face. "What is Callie thinking

of?"

"Is this the place?" Callisto whispered, cuddling still closer to

him. "Is it, papa?"

"Yes, little Callie, it is. We have reached it at last." And

though she was only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad

when he said it.

It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her

mind for "the place," as she always called it. Her mother had

died when she was born, so she had never known or missed her.

Her young, handsome, rich, petting father seemed to be the only

relation she had in the world. They had always played together

and been fond of each other. She only knew he was rich because

she had heard people say so when they thought she was not

listening, and she had also heard them say that when she grew up,

she would be rich, too. She did not know all that being rich

meant. She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had

been used to seeing many servants who made salaams to her and

called her "Missee Sahib," and gave her her own way in

everything. She had had books and pets and an _ayah_ who worshipped

her, and she had gradually learned that people who were rich had

these things. That, however, was all she knew about it.

During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that

thing was "the place" she was to be taken to some day. The

climate of India was very bad for children, and as soon as

possible they were sent away from it-generally to England and to

school. She had seen other children go away, and had heard their

fathers and mothers talk about the letters they received from

them. She had known that she would be obliged to go also, and

though sometimes her father's stories of the voyage and the new

country had attracted her, she had been troubled by the thought

that he could not stay with her.

"Couldn't you go to that place with me, papa?" she had asked when

she was five years old. "Couldn't you go to school, too? I

would help you with your lessons."

"But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little

Callie," he had always said. "You will go to a nice house where

there will be a lot of little girls, and you will play together,

and I will send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast

that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and

clever enough to come back and take care of papa."

She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her

father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when

he had dinner parties; to talk to him and read his books-that

would be what she would like most in the world, and if one must

go away to "the place" in England to attain it, she must make up

her mind to go. She did not care very much for other little

girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself.

She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always

inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to

herself. Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had

liked them as much as she did.

"Well, papa," she said softly, "if we are here I suppose we must

be resigned."

He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was

really not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep

that a secret. His quaint little Callisto had been a great companion

to him, and he felt he should be a lonely fellow when, on his

return to India, he went into his bungalow knowing he need not

expect to see the small figure in its white frock come forward to

meet him. So he held her very closely in his arms as the cab

rolled into the big, dull square in which stood the house which

was their destination.

It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in

its row, but that on the front door there shone a brass plate on

which was engraved in black letters:

_MISS BLACK__,_

_Select Seminary for Young Ladies._

"Here we are, Callisto," said Captain Silver, making his voice sound

as cheerful as possible. Then he lifted her out of the cab and

they mounted the steps and rang the bell. Callisto often thought

afterwards that the house was somehow exactly like Miss Black.

On the outside, it was respectable and well furnished, but everything in it was

ugly; and the very armchairs seemed to have hard bones in them.

In the hall everything was hard and polished-even the red cheeks

of the moon face on the tall clock in the corner had a severe

varnished look. The drawing room into which they were ushered

was covered by a carpet with a square pattern upon it, the chairs

were square, and a heavy marble timepiece stood upon the heavy

marble mantel.

As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Callisto cast

one of her quick looks about her.

"I don't like it, papa," she said. "But then I dare say

soldiers- even brave ones-don't really LIKE going into battle."

Captain Silver laughed outright at this. He was young and full

of fun, and he never tired of hearing Callisto's queer speeches.

"Oh, little Callie," he said. "What shall I do when I have no one

to say solemn things to me? No one else is as solemn as you

are."

"But why do solemn things make you laugh so?" inquired Callisto.

"Because you are such fun when you say them," he answered,

laughing still more. And then suddenly he swept her into his

arms and kissed her very hard, stopping laughing all at once and

looking almost as if tears had come into his eyes.

It was just then that Miss Black entered the room. She was

very like her house, Callisto felt: tall and stately, and respectable

and beautiful on the outside. But she had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold,

fishy smile, which rather spoilt her beauty. It spread itself into a very large smile when she

saw Callisto and Captain Silver. She had heard a great many desirable

things of the young soldier from the lady who had recommended her

school to him. Among other things, she had heard that he was a

rich father who was willing to spend a great deal of money on his

little daughter.

"It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful

and promising child, Captain Silver," she said, taking Callisto's

hand and stroking it. "Lady Minerva has told me of her unusual

cleverness. A clever child is a great treasure in an

establishment like mine."

Callisto stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Black's

face. She was thinking something odd, as usual.

"Why does she say I am a beautiful child?" she was thinking. "I

am not beautiful at all. Colonel Brown's little girl, Lavender,

is beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long

hair the color of gold. I have black hair and blue-gray eyes;

besides which, I am a thin child and as pale as a ghost. I

am one of the ugliest children I ever saw. She is beginning by

telling a story."

She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child.

She was not in the least like Lavender Brown, who had been the

beauty of the regiment, but she had an odd charm of her own. She

was a slim, supple creature, rather small for her age, and had an

intense, attractive little face. Her hair was thick and quite

black and perfectly straight; her eyes were an almost silver shade of blue-gray,

it is true, but they were big, wonderful eyes with long, black

lashes, and though she herself did not like the color of them,

many other people did. Still she was very firm in her belief

that she was an ugly little girl, and she was not at all elated

by Miss Black's flattery.

"I should be telling a story if I said she was not beautiful," she

thought; "and I should know I was telling a story. I believe I

am as ugly as she is beautiful. What did she say that for?"

After she had known Miss Black longer she learned why she had

said it. She discovered that she said the same thing to each

papa and mamma who brought a child to her school.

Callisto stood near her father and listened while he and Miss Black

talked. She had been brought to the seminary because Lady

Minerva's two little girls had been educated there, and Captain

Silver had a great respect for Lady Minerva's experience. Callisto

was to be what was known as "a parlor boarder," and she was to

enjoy even greater privileges than parlor boarders usually did.

She was to have a pretty bedroom and sitting room of her own; she

was to have a pony and a carriage, and a maid to take the place

of the _ayah_ who had been her nurse in India.

"I am not in the least anxious about her education," Captain

Silver said, with his gay laugh, as he held Callisto's hand and patted

it. "The difficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast

and too much. She is always sitting with her little nose

burrowing into books. She doesn't read them, Miss Black; she

gobbles them up as if she were a little wolf instead of a little

girl. She is always starving for new books to gobble, and she

wants grown-up books-great, big, fat ones-French and German as

well as English-history and biography and poetry, and all sorts of

things. Drag her away from her books when she reads too much.

Make her ride her pony in the Row or go out and buy a new doll.

She ought to play more with dolls."

"Papa," said Callisto, "you see, if I went out and bought a new doll

every few days I should have more than I could be fond of. Dolls

ought to be intimate friends. Pansy is going to be my intimate

friend."

Captain Silver looked at Miss Black and Miss Black looked at

Captain Silver.

"Who is Pansy?" she inquired.

"Tell her, Callisto," Captain Silver said, smiling.

Callisto's blue-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft as she

answered.

"She is a doll I haven't got yet," she said. "She is a doll

papa is going to buy for me. We are going out together to find

her. I have called her Pansy. She is going to be my friend when

papa is gone. I want her to talk to about him."

Miss Black's large, fishy smile became very flattering indeed.

"What an original child!" she said. "What a darling little

creature!"

"Yes," said Captain Silver, drawing Callisto close. "She is a

darling little creature. Take great care of her for me, Miss

Black."

Callisto stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; in

fact, she remained with him until he sailed away again to India.

They went out and visited many big shops together, and bought a

great many things. They bought, indeed, a great many more things

than Callisto needed; but Captain Silver was a rash, innocent young

man and wanted his little girl to have everything she admired and

everything he admired himself, so between them they collected a

wardrobe much too grand for a child of seven. There were velvet

dresses trimmed with costly furs, and lace dresses, and

embroidered ones, and hats with great, soft ostrich feathers, and

ermine coats and muffs, and boxes of tiny gloves and

handkerchiefs and silk stockings in such abundant supplies that

the polite young women behind the counters whispered to each

other that the odd little girl with the big, solemn eyes must be

at least some foreign princess-perhaps the little daughter of an

Indian rajah.

And at last they found Pansy, but they went to a number of toy

shops and looked at a great many dolls before they discovered

her.

"I want her to look as if she wasn't a doll really," Callisto said.

"I want her to look as if she LISTENS when I talk to her. The

trouble with dolls, papa"-and she put her head on one side and

reflected as she said it-"the trouble with dolls is that they

never seem to HEAR." So they looked at big ones and little ones-

at dolls with black eyes and dolls with blue-at dolls with

brown curls and dolls with golden braids, dolls dressed and dolls

undressed.

"You see," Callisto said when they were examining one who had no

clothes. "If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take

her to a dressmaker and have her things made to fit. They will

fit better if they are tried on."

After a number of disappointments they decided to walk and look

in at the shop windows and let the cab follow them. They had

passed two or three places without even going in, when, as they

were approaching a shop which was really not a very large one,

Callisto suddenly started and clutched her father's arm.

"Oh, papa!" she cried. "There is Pansy!"

A flush had risen to her face and there was an expression in her

blue-gray eyes as if she had just recognized someone she was

intimate with and fond of.

"She is actually waiting there for us!" she said. "Let us go in

to her."

"Dear me," said Captain Silver, "I feel as if we ought to have

someone to introduce us."

"You must introduce me and I will introduce you," said Callisto.

"But I knew her the minute I saw her-so perhaps she knew me,

too."

Perhaps she had known her. She had certainly a very intelligent

expression in her eyes when Callisto took her in her arms. She was a

large doll, but not too large to carry about easily; she had

soft, short black hair, which framed her face neatly

about her, and her eyes were a deep, clear, dark brown, with

soft, thick eyelashes which were real eyelashes and not mere

painted lines.

"Of course," said Callisto, looking into her face as she held her on

her knee, "of course papa, this is Pansy."

So Pansy was bought and actually taken to a children's

outfitter's shop and measured for a wardrobe as grand as Callisto's

own. She had lace frocks, too, and velvet and muslin ones, and

hats and coats and beautiful lace-trimmed underclothes, and

gloves and handkerchiefs and furs.

"I should like her always to look as if she was a child with a

good mother," said Callisto. "I'm her mother, though I am going to

make a companion of her."

Captain Silver would really have enjoyed the shopping

tremendously, but that a sad thought kept tugging at his heart.

This all meant that he was going to be separated from his

beloved, quaint little comrade.

He got out of his bed in the middle of that night and went and

stood looking down at Callisto, who lay asleep with Pansy in her

arms. Her black hair was spread out on the pillow and Pansy's

own hair mingled with it, both of them had lace-ruffled

nightgowns, and both had long eyelashes which lay and curled up

on their cheeks. Pansy looked so like a real child that Captain

Crewe felt glad she was there. He drew a big sigh and rubbed his face

with a boyish expression.

"Heigh-ho, little Callie!" he said to himself "I don't believe you

know how much your daddy will miss you."

The next day he took her to Miss Black's and left her there.

He was to sail away the next morning. He explained to Miss

Black that his solicitors, Messrs. Riddle & Lestrange, had

charge of his affairs in England and would give her any advice

she wanted, and that they would pay the bills she sent in for

Callisto's expenses. He would write to Callisto twice a week, and she

was to be given every pleasure she asked for.

"She is a sensible little thing, and she never wants anything it

isn't safe to give her," he said.

Then he went with Callisto into her little sitting room and they

bade each other good-by. Callisto sat on his knee and held the lapels

of his coat in her small hands, and looked long and hard at his

face.

"Are you learning me by heart, little Callie?" he said, stroking

her hair.

"No," she answered. "I know you by heart. You are inside my

heart." And they put their arms round each other and kissed as

if they would never let each other go.

When the cab drove away from the door, Callisto was sitting on the

floor of her sitting room, with her hands under her chin and her

eyes following it until it had turned the corner of the square.

Pansy was sitting by her, and she looked after it, too. When

Miss Black sent her sister, Miss Andromeda, to see what the child

was doing, she found she could not open the door.

"I have locked it," said a queer, polite little voice from

inside. "I want to be quite by myself, if you please."

Like her sister, Miss Andromeda was also beautiful, but rather dim,

and stood very much in awe of her sister. She was

really the better-natured person of the two, but

she never disobeyed Miss Black. She went downstairs again,

looking almost alarmed.

"I never saw such a funny, old-fashioned child, sister," she

said. "She has locked herself in, and she is not making the

least particle of noise."

"It is much better than if she kicked and screamed, as some of

them do," Miss Black answered. "I expected that a child as

much spoiled as she is would set the whole house in an uproar.

If ever a child was given her own way in everything, she is."

"I've been opening her trunks and putting her things away," said

Miss Andromeda. "I never saw anything like them-sable and ermine

on her coats, and real Valenciennes lace on her underclothing.

You have seen some of her clothes. What DO you think of them?"

"I think they are perfectly ridiculous," replied Miss Black,

sharply; "but they will look very well at the head of the line

when we take the schoolchildren to church on Sunday. She has

been provided for as if she were a little princess."

And upstairs in the locked room Callisto and Pansy sat on the floor

and stared at the corner round which the cab had disappeared,

while Captain Silver looked backward, waving and kissing his hand

as if he could not bear to stop.

**Chapter 2: A French Lesson**

When Callisto entered the schoolroom the next morning everybody

looked at her with wide, interested eyes. By that time every

pupil—from Ginny Weasley, who was nearly thirteen and felt

quite grown up, to Astoria Greengrass, who was only just four and the

baby of the school- had heard a great deal about her. They knew

very certainly that she was Miss Black's show pupil and was

considered a credit to the establishment. One or two of them had

even caught a glimpse of her French maid, Annette, who had

arrived the evening before. Ginny had managed to pass Callisto's

room when the door was open, and had seen Annette opening a box

which had arrived late from some shop.

"It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them-frills and

frills," she whispered to her friend Hermione as she bent over her

geography. "I saw her shaking them out. I heard Miss Black

say to Miss Andromeda that her clothes were so grand that they were

ridiculous for a child. My mamma says that children should be

dressed simply. She has got one of those petticoats on now. I

saw it when she sat down."

"She has silk stockings on!" whispered Hermione, bending over her

geography also. "And what little feet! I never saw such little

feet."

"Oh," sniffed Ginny, spitefully, "that is the way her slippers

are made. My mamma says that even big feet can be made to look

small if you have a clever shoemaker. I don't think she is

pretty at all. Her eyes are such a queer color."

"She is pretty, just not like other pretty people are," said Hermione,

stealing a glance across the room; "but she makes you want to

look at her again. She has tremendously long eyelashes, but her

eyes are almost silver."

Callisto wassitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to

do. She had been placed near Miss Black's desk. She was not

abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her. She was

interested and looked back quietly at the children who looked at

her. She wondered what they were thinking of, and if they liked

Miss Black, and if they cared for their lessons, and if any of

them had a papa at all like her own. She had had a long talk

with Pansy about her papa that morning.

"He is on the sea now, Pansy," she had said. "We must be very

great friends to each other and tell each other things. Pansy,

look at me. You have the nicest eyes I ever saw-but I wish you

could speak."

She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts, and

one of her fancies was that there would be a great deal of

comfort in even pretending that Pansy was alive and really heard

and understood. After Annette had dressed her in her dark-blue

schoolroom frock and tied her hair with a dark-blue ribbon, she

went to Pansy, who sat in a chair of her own, and gave her a

book.

"You can read that while I am downstairs," she said; and, seeing

Annette looking at her curiously, she spoke to her with a

serious little face.

"What I believe about dolls," she said, "is that they can do

things they will not let us know about. Perhaps, really, Pansy

can read and talk and walk, but she will only do it when people

are out of the room. That is her secret. You see, if people

knew that dolls could do things, they would make them work. So,

perhaps, they have promised each other to keep it a secret. If

you stay in the room, Pansy will just sit there and stare; but if

you go out, she will begin to read, perhaps, or go and look out

of the window. Then if she heard either of us coming, she would

just run back and jump into her chair and pretend she had been

there all the time."

"_Comme elle est drole_!" Annette said to herself, and when she

went downstairs she told the head housemaid about it. But she

had already begun to like this odd little girl who had such an

intelligent small face and such perfect manners. She had taken

care of children before who were not so polite. Callisto was a very

fine little person, and had a gentle, appreciative way of saying,

"If you please, Annette," "Thank you, Annette," which was very

charming. Annette told the head housemaid that she thanked her

as if she was thanking a lady.

"_Elle a l'air d'une princesse, cette petite_," she said. Indeed,

she was very much pleased with her new little mistress and liked

her place greatly.

After Callisto had sat in her seat in the schoolroom for a few

minutes, being looked at by the pupils, Miss Black rapped in a

dignified manner upon her desk.

"Young ladies," she said, "I wish to introduce you to your new

companion." All the little girls rose in their places, and Callisto

rose also. "I shall expect you all to be very agreeable to Miss

Silver; she has just come to us from a great distance-in fact,

from India. As soon as lessons are over you must make each

other's acquaintance."

The pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Callisto made a little curtsy,

and then they sat down and looked at each other again.

"Callisto," said Miss Black in her schoolroom manner, "come here

to me."

She had taken a book from the desk and was turning over its

leaves. Callisto went to her politely.

"As your papa has engaged a French maid for you," she began, "I

conclude that he wishes you to make a special study of the French

language."

Callisto felt a little awkward.

"I think he engaged her," she said, "because he-he thought I

would like her, Miss Black."

"I am afraid," said Miss Black, with a slightly sour smile,

"that you have been a very spoiled little girl and always

imagine that things are done because you like them. My

impression is that your papa wished you to learn French."

If Callisto had been older or less punctilious about being quite

polite to people, she could have explained herself in a very few

words. But, as it was, she felt a flush rising on her cheeks.

Miss Black was a very severe and imposing person, and she

seemed so absolutely sure that Callisto knew nothing whatever of

French that she felt as if it would be almost rude to correct

her. The truth was that Callisto could not remember the time when

she had not seemed to know French. Her father had often spoken

it to her when she had been a baby. Her mother had been a Frenchwoman,

and Captain Silver had loved her language, so it happened

that Callisto had always heard and been familiar with it.

"I-I have never really learned French, but-but-" she began,

trying shyly to make herself clear.

One of Miss Black's chief secret annoyances was that she did

not speak French herself, and was desirous of concealing the

irritating fact. She, therefore, had no intention of discussing

the matter and laying herself open to innocent questioning by a

new little pupil.

"That is enough," she said with polite tartness. "If you have

not learned, you must begin at once. The French master, Monsieur

Delacroix, will be here in a few minutes. Take this book and look

at it until he arrives."

Callisto's cheeks felt warm. She went back to her seat and opened

the book. She looked at the first page with a grave face. She

knew it would be rude to smile, and she was very determined not

to be rude. But it was very odd to find herself expected to

study a page which told her that "_le pere_" meant "the father,"

and "_la mere_" meant "the mother."

Miss Black glanced toward her scrutinizingly.

"You look rather cross, Callisto," she said. "I am sorry you do not

like the idea of learning French."

"I am very fond of it," answered Callisto, thinking she would try

again; "but-"

"You must not say `but' when you are told to do things," said

Miss Black. "Look at your book again."

And Callisto did so, and did not smile, even when she found that "_le_

_fils_" meant "the son," and "_le frere_" meant "the brother."

"When Monsieur Delacroix comes," she thought, "I can make him

understand."

Monsieur Delacroix arrived very shortly afterward. He was a very

nice, intelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and he looked

interested when his eyes fell upon Callisto trying politely to seem

absorbed in her little book of phrases.

"Is this a new pupil for me, madame?" he said to Miss Black.

"I hope that is my good fortune."

"Her papa-Captain Silver-is very anxious that she should begin

the language. But I am afraid she has a childish prejudice

against it. She does not seem to wish to learn," said Miss

Black.

"I am sorry of that, mademoiselle," he said kindly to Callisto.

"Perhaps, when we begin to study together, I may show you that

it is a charming tongue."

Little Callisto rose in her seat. She was beginning to feel rather

desperate, as if she were almost in disgrace. She looked up into

Monsieur Delacroix's face with her big, blue-gray eyes, and they

were quite innocently appealing. She knew that he would

understand as soon as she spoke. She began to explain quite

simply in pretty and fluent French. Madame had not understood.

She had not learned French exactly-not out of books-but her

papa and other people had always spoken it to her, and she had

read it and written it as she had read and written English. Her

papa loved it, and she loved it because he did. Her dear mamma,

who had died when she was born, had been French. She would be

glad to learn anything monsieur would teach her, but what she had

tried to explain to madame was that she already knew the words in

this book- and she held out the little book of phrases.

When she began to speak Miss Black started quite violently and

sat staring at her over her eyeglasses, almost indignantly, until

she had finished. Monsieur Delacroix began to smile, and his smile

was one of great pleasure. To hear this pretty, childish voice

speaking his own language so simply and charmingly made him feel

almost as if he were in his native land-which in dark, foggy

days in London sometimes seemed worlds away. When she had

finished, he took the phrase book from her, with a look almost

affectionate. But he spoke to Miss Black.

"Ah, madame," he said, "there is not much I can teach her. She

has not LEARNED French; she IS French. Her accent is exquisite."

"You ought to have told me," exclaimed Miss Black, much

mortified, turning to Callisto.

"I-I tried," said Callisto. "I-I suppose I did not begin right."

Miss Black knew she had tried, and that it had not been her

fault that she was not allowed to explain. And when she saw that

the pupils had been listening and that Ginny and Hermione were

giggling behind their French grammars, she felt infuriated.

"Silence, young ladies!" she said severely, rapping upon the

desk. "Silence at once!"

And she began from that minute to feel rather a grudge against

her show pupil.

**Chapter 3: Millicent**

On that first morning, when Callisto sat at Miss Black's side,

aware that the whole schoolroom was devoting itself to observing

her, she had noticed very soon one little girl, about her own

age, who looked at her very hard with a pair of light, rather

dull, blue eyes. She was a plump child who did not look as if she

were in the least clever, but she had a good-naturedly pouting

mouth. Her brown hair was braided in a tight pigtail, tied with

a ribbon, and she had pulled this pigtail around her neck, and

was biting the end of the ribbon, resting her elbows on the desk,

as she stared wonderingly at the new pupil. When Monsieur

Delacroix began to speak to Callisto, she looked a little frightened;

and when Callisto stepped forward and, looking at him with the

innocent, appealing eyes, answered him, without any warning, in

French, the plump little girl gave a startled jump, and grew quite

red in her awed amazement. Having wept hopeless tears for weeks

in her efforts to remember that "_la mere_" meant "the mother," and

"_le pere_," "the father,"- when one spoke sensible English-it

was almost too much for her suddenly to find herself listening to

a child her own age who seemed not only quite familiar with these

words, but apparently knew any number of others, and could mix

them up with verbs as if they were mere trifles.

She stared so hard and bit the ribbon on her pigtail so fast

that she attracted the attention of Miss Black, who, feeling

extremely cross at the moment, immediately pounced upon her.

"Miss Bulstrode!" she exclaimed severely. "What do you mean by

such conduct? Remove your elbows! Take your ribbon out of your

mouth! Sit up at once!"

Upon which Miss Bulstrode gave another jump, and when Ginny and

Hermione tittered she became redder than ever-so red, indeed, that

she almost looked as if tears were coming into her poor, dull,

childish eyes; and Callisto saw her and was so sorry for her that she

began rather to like her and want to be her friend. It was a way

of hers always to want to spring into any fray in which someone

was made uncomfortable or unhappy.

"If Callisto had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago," her

father used to say, "she would have gone about the country with

her sword drawn, rescuing and defending everyone in distress.

She always wants to fight when she sees people in trouble."

So she took rather a fancy to plump, slow, little Miss Bulstrode,

and kept glancing toward her through the morning. She saw that

lessons were no easy matter to her, and that there was no danger

of her ever being spoiled by being treated as a show pupil. Her

French lesson was a pathetic thing. Her pronunciation made even

Monsieur Delacroix smile in spite of himself, and Ginny and

Hermione and the more fortunate girls either giggled or looked at

her in wondering disdain. But Calisto did not laugh. She tried to

look as if she did not hear when Miss Bulstrode called "_le bon_

_pain_," "lee bong pang." She had a fine, hot little temper of her

own, and it made her feel rather savage when she heard the

titters and saw the poor, slow, distressed child's face.

"It isn't funny, really," she said between her teeth, as she

bent over her book. "They ought not to laugh."

When lessons were over and the pupils gathered together in

groups to talk, Callisto looked for Miss Bulstrode, and finding her

bundled rather disconsolately in a window-seat, she walked over

to her and spoke. She only said the kind of thing little girls

always say to each other by way of beginning an acquaintance, but

there was something friendly about Callisto, and people always felt

it.

"What is your name?" she said.

To explain Miss Bulstrode's amazement one must recall that a new

pupil is, for a short time, a somewhat uncertain thing; and of

this new pupil the entire school had talked the night before

until it fell asleep quite exhausted by excitement and

contradictory stories. A new pupil with a carriage and a pony

and a maid, and a voyage from India to discuss, was not an

ordinary acquaintance.

"My name's Millicent Bulstrode," she answered.

"Mine is Callisto Silver," said Callisto. "Yours is very pretty. It

sounds like a story book."

"Do you like it?" fluttered Millicent. "I-I like yours."

Miss Bulstrode's chief trouble in life was that she had a clever

father. Sometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity. If

you have a father who knows everything, who speaks seven or eight

languages, and has thousands of volumes which he has apparently

learned by heart, he frequently expects you to be familiar with

the contents of your lesson books at least; and it is not

improbable that he will feel you ought to be able to remember a

few incidents of history and to write a French exercise.

Millicent was a severe trial to Mr. Bulstrode. He could not

understand how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably

dull creature who never shone in anything.

"Good heavens!" he had said more than once, as he stared at her,

"there are times when I think she is as stupid as her Aunt

Eliza!"

If her Aunt Eliza had been slow to learn and quick to forget a

thing entirely when she had learned it, Millicent was strikingly

like her. She was the monumental dunce of the school, and it

could not be denied.

"She must be MADE to learn," her father said to Miss Black.

Consequently Millicent spent the greater part of her life in

disgrace or in tears. She learned things and forgot them; or,

if she remembered them, she did not understand them. So it was

natural that, having made Callisto's acquaintance, she should sit

and stare at her with profound admiration.

"You can speak French, can't you?" she said respectfully.

Callisto got on to the window-seat, which was a big, deep one, and,

tucking up her feet, sat with her hands clasped round her knees.

"I can speak it because I have heard it all my life," she

answered. "You could speak it if you had always heard it."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," said Millicent. "I NEVER could speak

it!"

"Why?" inquired Callisto, curiously.

Millicent shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled.

"You heard me just now," she said. "I'm always like that. I

can't SAY the words. They're so queer."

She paused a moment, and then added with a touch of awe in her

voice, "You are CLEVER, aren't you?"

Callisto looked out of the window into the dingy square, where the

sparrows were hopping and twittering on the wet, iron railings

and the sooty branches of the trees. She reflected a few

moments. She had heard it said very often that she was "clever,"

and she wondered if she was-and IF she was, how it had happened.

"I don't know," she said. "I can't tell." Then, seeing a

mournful look on the round, chubby face, she gave a little laugh

and changed the subject.

"Would you like to see Pansy?" she inquired.

"Who is Pansy?" Millicent asked, just as Miss Black had

done.

"Come up to my room and see," said Callisto, holding out her hand.

They jumped down from the window-seat together, and went

upstairs.

"Is it true," Millicent whispered, as they went through the hall-

-"is it true that you have a playroom all to yourself?"

"Yes," Callisto answered. "Papa asked Miss Black to let me have

one, because-well, it was because when I play I make up stories

and tell them to myself, and I don't like people to hear me. It

spoils it if I think people listen."

They had reached the passage leading to Callisto's room by this

time, and Millicent stopped short, staring, and quite losing her

breath.

"You MAKE up stories!" she gasped. "Can you do that-as well as

speak French? CAN you?"

Callisto looked at her in simple surprise.

"Why, anyone can make up things," she said. "Have you never

tried?"

She put her hand warningly on Millicent's.

"Let us go very quietly to the door," she whispered, "and then I

will open it quite suddenly; perhaps we may catch her."

She was half laughing, but there was a touch of mysterious hope

in her eyes which fascinated Milicent, though she had not the

remotest idea what it meant, or whom it was she wanted to

"catch," or why she wanted to catch her. Whatsoever she meant,

Milicent was sure it was something delightfully exciting. So,

quite thrilled with expectation, she followed her on tiptoe along

the passage. They made not the least noise until they reached

the door. Then Callisto suddenly turned the handle, and threw it

wide open. Its opening revealed the room quite neat and quiet, a

fire gently burning in the grate, and a wonderful doll sitting in

a chair by it, apparently reading a book.

"Oh, she got back to her seat before we could see her!" Calisto

explained. "Of course they always do. They are as quick as

lightning."

Millicent looked from her to the doll and back again.

"Can she-walk?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes," answered Callisto. "At least I believe she can. At least I

PRETEND I believe she can. And that makes it seem as if it were

true. Have you never pretended things?"

"No," said Millicent. "Never. I-tell me about it."

She was so bewitched by this odd, new companion that she

actually stared at Callisto instead of at Pansy—not withstanding that

Pansy was the most attractive doll person she had ever seen.

"Let us sit down," said Callisto, "and I will tell you. It's so

easy that when you begin you can't stop. You just go on and on

doing it always. And it's beautiful. Pansy, you must listen.

This is Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy. Millicent, this is Pansy.

Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh, may I?" said Millicent. "May I, really? he is

beautiful!" And Pansy was put into her arms.

Never in her dull, short life had Miss Bulstrode dreamed of such

an hour as the one she spent with the queer new pupil before

they heard the lunch-bell ring and were obliged to go downstairs.

Callisto sat upon the hearth-rug and told her strange things. She

sat rather huddled up, and her blue gray eyes shone and her cheeks

flushed. She told stories of the voyage, and stories of India;

but what fascinated Millicent the most was her fancy about the

dolls who walked and talked, and who could do anything they chose

when the human beings were out of the room, but who must keep

their powers a secret and so flew back to their places "like

lightning" when people returned to the room.

"WE couldn't do it," said Callisto, seriously. "You see, it's a

kind of magic."

Once, when she was relating the story of the search for Pansy,

Millicent saw her face suddenly change. A cloud seemed to pass

over it and put out the light in her shining eyes. She drew her

breath in so sharply that it made a funny, sad little sound, and

then she shut her lips and held them tightly closed, as if she

was determined either to do or NOT to do something. Millicent

had an idea that if she had been like any other little girl, she

might have suddenly burst out sobbing and crying. But she did

not.

"Have you a-a pain?" Millicent ventured.

"Yes," Callisto answered, after a moment's silence. "But it is not

in my body." Then she added something in a low voice which she

tried to keep quite steady, and it was this: "Do you love your

father more than anything else in all the whole world?"

Millicent's mouth fell open a little. She knew that it would

be far from behaving like a respectable child at a select

seminary to say that it had never occurred to you that you COULD

love your father, that you would do anything desperate to avoid

being left alone in his society for ten minutes. She was,

indeed, greatly embarrassed.

"I-I scarcely ever see him," she stammered. "He is always in

the library-reading things."

"I love mine more than all the world ten times over," Callisto said.

"That is what my pain is. He has gone away."

She put her head quietly down on her little, huddled-up knees,

and sat very still for a few minutes.

"She's going to cry out loud," thought Millicent, fearfully.

But she did not. Her long, black locks tumbled about her ears,

and she sat still. Then she spoke without lifting her head.

"I promised him I would bear it," she said. "And I will. You

have to bear things. Think what soldiers bear! Papa is a

soldier. If there was a war he would have to bear marching and

thirstiness and, perhaps, deep wounds. And he would never say a

word-not one word."

Millicent could only gaze at her, but she felt that she was

beginning to adore her. She was so wonderful and different from

anyone else.

Presently, she lifted her face and shook back her black locks,

with a queer little smile.

"If I go on talking and talking," she said, "and telling you

things about pretending, I shall bear it better. You don't

forget, but you bear it better."

Millicent did not know why a lump came into her throat and her

eyes felt as if tears were in them.

"Ginny and Hermione are `best friends,'" she said rather

huskily. "I wish we could be `best friends.' Would you have me

for yours? You're clever, and I'm the stupidest child in the

school, but I- oh, I do so like you!"

"I'm glad of that," said Callisto. "It makes you thankful when you

are liked. Yes. We will be friends. And I'll tell you what"-

a sudden gleam lighting her face-"I can help you with your

French lessons."

**Chapter 4: Astoria**

If Callisto had been a different kind of child, the life she led at

Miss Black's Select Seminary for the next few years would not

have been at all good for her. She was treated more as if she

were a distinguished guest at the establishment than as if she

were a mere little girl. If she had been a self-opinionated,

domineering child, she might have become disagreeable enough to

be unbearable through being so much indulged and flattered. If

she had been an indolent child, she would have learned nothing.

Privately Miss Black disliked her, but she was far too worldly

a woman to do or say anything which might make such a desirable

pupil wish to leave her school. She knew quite well that if Callisto

wrote to her papa to tell him she was uncomfortable or unhappy,

Captain Silver would remove her at once. Miss Black's opinion

was that if a child were continually praised and never forbidden

to do what she liked, she would be sure to be fond of the place

where she was so treated. Accordingly, Callisto was praised for her

quickness at her lessons, for her good manners, for her

amiability to her fellow pupils, for her generosity if she gave

sixpence to a beggar out of her purse; the simplest

thing she did was treated as if it were a virtue, and if she had

not had a disposition and a clever little brain, she might have

been a very self-satisfied young person. But the clever little

brain told her a great many sensible and true things about

herself and her circumstances, and now and then she talked these

things over to Millicent as time went on.

"Things happen to people by accident," she used to say. "A lot

of nice accidents have happened to me. It just HAPPENED that I

always liked lessons and books, and could remember things when I

learned them. It just happened that I was born with a father who

was beautiful and nice and clever, and could give me everything I

liked. Perhaps I have not really a good temper at all, but if

you have everything you want and everyone is kind to you, how can

you help but be good-tempered? I don't know"-looking quite

serious-"how I shall ever find out whether I am really a nice

child or a horrid one. Perhaps I'm a HIDEOUS child, and no one

will ever know, just because I never have any trials."

"Ginny has no trials," said Millicent, stolidly, "and she is

horrid enough."

Callisto rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively, as she

thought the matter over.

"Well," she said at last, "perhaps-perhaps that is because

Ginny is GROWING." This was the result of a charitable

recollection of having heard Miss Andromeda say that Ginny was

growing so fast that she believed it affected her health and

temper.

Ginny, in fact, was spiteful. She was inordinately jealous of

Callisto. Until the new pupil's arrival, she had felt herself the

leader in the school. She had led because she was capable of

making herself extremely disagreeable if the others did not

follow her. She domineered over the little children, and assumed

grand airs with those big enough to be her companions. She was

rather pretty, and had been the best-dressed pupil in the

procession when the Select Seminary walked out two by two, until

Sara's velvet coats and sable muffs appeared, combined with

drooping ostrich feathers, and were led by Miss Minchin at the

head of the line. This, at the beginning, had been bitter

enough; but as time went on it became apparent that Callisto was a

leader, too, and not because she could make herself disagreeable,

but because she never did.

"There's one thing about Callisto Silver," Hermione had enraged her

"best friend" by saying honestly, "she's never `grand' about

herself the least bit, and you know she might be, Gin. I

believe I couldn't help being-just a little-if I had so many

fine things and was made such a fuss over. It's disgusting, the

way Miss Black shows her off when parents come."

"`Dear Callisto must come into the drawing room and talk to Mrs.

Chang about India,'" mimicked Ginny, in her most highly

flavored imitation of Miss Black. "`Dear Callisto must speak

French to Lady Nott. Her accent is so perfect.' She didn't

learn her French at the Seminary, at any rate. And there's

nothing so clever in her knowing it. She says herself she didn't

learn it at all. She just picked it up, because she always heard

her papa speak it. And, as to her papa, there is nothing so

grand in being an Indian officer."

"Well," said Hermione, slowly, "he's killed tigers. He killed the

one in the skin Callisto has in her room. That's why she likes it

so. She lies on it and strokes its head, and talks to it as if

it was a cat."

"She's always doing something silly," snapped Ginny. "My

mamma says that way of hers of pretending things is silly. She

says she will grow up eccentric."

It was quite true that Callisto was never "grand." She was a

friendly little soul, and shared her privileges and belongings

with a free hand. The little ones, who were accustomed to being

disdained and ordered out of the way by mature ladies aged ten

and twelve, were never made to cry by this most envied of them

all. She was a motherly young person, and when people fell down

and scraped their knees, she ran and helped them up and patted

them, or found in her pocket a bonbon or some other article of a

soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way or alluded

to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon their small

characters.

"If you are four you are four," she said severely to Ginny on

an occasion of her having-it must be confessed-slapped Astoria

and called her "a brat;" "but you will be five next year, and

six the year after that. And," opening large, convicting eyes,

"it takes sixteen years to make you twenty."

"Dear me," said Ginny, "how we can calculate!" In fact, it

was not to be denied that sixteen and four made twenty-and

twenty was an age the most daring were scarcely bold enough to

dream of.

So the younger children adored Callisto. More than once she had

been known to have a tea party, made up of these despised ones,

in her own room. And Pansy had been played with, and Pansy's own

tea service used- the one with cups which held quite a lot of

much-sweetened weak tea and had blue flowers on them. No one had

seen such a very real doll's tea set before. From that afternoon

Callisto was regarded as a goddess and a queen by the entire alphabet

class.

Astoria Greengrass worshipped her to such an extent that if Callisto had not

been a motherly person, she would have found her tiresome.

Astoria had been sent to school by a rather flighty young papa

who could not imagine what else to do with her. Her young mother

had died, and as the child had been treated like a favorite doll

or a very spoiled pet monkey or lap dog ever since the first hour

of her life, she was a very appalling little creature. When she

wanted anything or did not want anything she wept and howled;

and, as she always wanted the things she could not have, and did

not want the things that were best for her, her shrill little

voice was usually to be heard uplifted in wails in one part of

the house or another.

Her strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way she had

found out that a very small girl who had lost her mother was a

person who ought to be pitied and made much of. She had probably

heard some grown-up people talking her over in the early days,

after her mother's death. So it became her habit to make great

use of this knowledge.

The first time Callisto took her in charge was one morning when, on

passing a sitting room, she heard both Miss Black and Miss

Andromeda trying to suppress the angry wails of some child who,

evidently, refused to be silenced. She refused so strenuously

indeed that Miss Black was obliged to almost shout-in a

stately and severe manner- to make herself heard.

"What IS she crying for?" she almost yelled.

"Oh-oh-oh!" Callisto heard; "I haven't got any mam-ma-a!"

"Oh, Astoria!" screamed Miss Andromeda. "Do stop, darling! Don't

cry! Please don't!"

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" Astoria howled tempestuously. "Haven't-

-got-any-mam-ma-a!"

"She ought to be whipped," Miss Black proclaimed. "You SHALL

be whipped, you naughty child!"

Astoria wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Andromeda began to cry.

Miss Black's voice rose until it almost thundered, then

suddenly she sprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and

flounced out of the room, leaving Miss Andromeda to arrange the

matter.

Callisto had paused in the hall, wondering if she ought to go into

the room, because she had recently begun a friendly acquaintance

with Astoria and might be able to quiet her. When Miss Black

came out and saw her, she looked rather annoyed. She realized

that her voice, as heard from inside the room, could not have

sounded either dignified or amiable.

"Oh, Callisto!" she exclaimed, endeavoring to produce a suitable

smile.

"I stopped," explained Callisto, "because I knew it was Astoria- and

I thought, perhaps-just perhaps, I could make her be quiet. May

I try, Miss Black?"

"If you can, you are a clever child," answered Miss Black,

drawing in her mouth sharply. Then, seeing that Callisto looked

slightly chilled by her asperity, she changed her manner. "But

you are clever in everything," she said in her approving way. "I

dare say you can manage her. Go in." And she left her.

When Callisto entered the room, Astoria was lying upon the floor,

screaming and kicking her small legs violently, and Miss

Andromeda was bending over her in consternation and despair, looking

quite red and damp with heat. Astoria had always found, when in

her own nursery at home, that kicking and screaming would always

be quieted by any means she insisted on. Poor Miss Andromeda

was trying first one method, and then another.

"Poor darling," she said one moment, "I know you haven't any

mamma, poor-" Then in quite another tone, "If you don't stop,

Astoria, I will shake you. Poor little angel! There-! You

wicked, bad, detestable child, I will smack you! I will!"

Callisto went to them quietly. She did not know at all what she was

going to do, but she had a vague inward conviction that it would

be better not to say such different kinds of things quite so

helplessly and excitedly.

"Miss Andromeda," she said in a low voice, "Miss Black says I may

try to make her stop-may I?"

Miss Andromeda turned and looked at her hopelessly. "Oh, DO you

think you can?" she gasped.

"I don't know whether I CAN", answered Callisto, still in her half-

whisper; "but I will try."

Miss Andromeda stumbled up from her knees with a heavy sigh, and

Lottie's little legs kicked as hard as ever.

"If you will steal out of the room," said Callisto, "I will stay

with her."

"Oh, Callisto!" almost whimpered Miss Amelia. "We never had such a

dreadful child before. I don't believe we can keep her."

But she crept out of the room, and was very much relieved to

find an excuse for doing it.

Callisto stood by the howling furious child for a few moments, and

looked down at her without saying anything. Then she sat down

flat on the floor beside her and waited. Except for Astoria's

angry screams, the room was quite quiet. This was a new state of

affairs for little Miss Greengrass, who was accustomed, when she

screamed, to hear other people protest and implore and command

and coax by turns. To lie and kick and shriek, and find the only

person near you not seeming to mind in the least, attracted her

attention. She opened her tight-shut streaming eyes to see who

this person was. And it was only another little girl. But it

was the one who owned Pansy and all the nice things. And she was

looking at her steadily and as if she was merely thinking.

Having paused for a few seconds to find this out, Astoria thought

she must begin again, but the quiet of the room and of Callisto's

odd, interested face made her first howl rather half-hearted.

"I-haven't-any-ma-ma-ma-a!" she announced; but her voice was

not so strong.

Callisto looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort of

understanding in her eyes.

"Neither have I," she said.

This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Astoria actually

dropped her legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared. A new idea

will stop a crying child when nothing else will. Also it was

true that while Astoria disliked Miss Black, who was cross, and

Miss Andromeda, who was foolishly indulgent, she rather liked Callisto,

little as she knew her. She did not want to give up her

grievance, but her thoughts were distracted from it, so she

wriggled again, and, after a sulky sob, said, "Where is she?"

Callisto paused a moment. Because she had been told that her mamma

was in heaven, she had thought a great deal about the matter, and

her thoughts had not been quite like those of other people.

"She went to heaven," she said. "But I am sure she comes out

sometimes to see me-though I don't see her. So does yours.

Perhaps they can both see us now. Perhaps they are both in this

room."

Astoria sat bolt upright, and looked about her. She was a

pretty, little, curly-headed creature, and her round eyes were

like wet forget-me-nots. If her mamma had seen her during the

last half-hour, she might not have thought her the kind of child

who ought to be related to an angel.

Callisto went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what

she said was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to

her own imagination that Astoria began to listen in spite of

herself. She had been told that her mamma had wings and a crown,

and she had been shown pictures of ladies in beautiful white

nightgowns, who were said to be angels. But Callisto seemed to be

telling a real story about a lovely country where real people

were.

"There are fields and fields of flowers," she said, forgetting

herself, as usual, when she began, and talking rather as if she

were in a dream, "fields and fields of lilies-and when the soft

wind blows over them it wafts the scent of them into the air-and

everybody always breathes it, because the soft wind is always

blowing. And little children run about in the lily fields and

gather armfuls of them, and laugh and make little wreaths. And

the streets are shining. And people are never tired, however far

they walk. They can float anywhere they like. And there are

walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are low

enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look down onto

the earth and smile, and send beautiful messages."

Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Astoria would, no doubt,

have stopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; but

there was no denying that this story was prettier than most

others. She dragged herself close to Callisto, and drank in every

word until the end came-far too soon. When it did come, she was

so sorry that she put up her lip ominously.

"I want to go there," she cried. "I-haven't any mamma in this

school."

Callisto saw the danger signal, and came out of her dream. She took

hold of the small hand and pulled her close to her side with a

coaxing little laugh.

"I will be your mamma," she said. "We will play that you are my

little girl. And Pansy shall be your sister."

Astoria's dimples all began to show themselves.

"Shall she?" she said.

"Yes," answered Callisto, jumping to her feet. "Let us go and tell

her. And then I will wash your face and brush your hair."

To which Astoria agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the

room and upstairs with her, without seeming even to remember that

the whole of the last hour's tragedy had been caused by the fact

that she had refused to be washed and brushed for lunch and Miss

Black had been called in to use her majestic authority.

And from that time Callisto was an adopted mother.

**Chapter 5: Circe**

Of course the greatest power Callisto possessed and the one which

gained her even more followers than her luxuries and the fact

that she was "the show pupil," the power that Ginny and certain

other girls were most envious of, and at the same time most

fascinated by in spite of themselves, was her power of telling

stories and of making everything she talked about seem like a

story, whether it was one or not.

Anyone who has been at school with a teller of stories knows

what the wonder means-how he or she is followed about and

besought in a whisper to relate romances; how groups gather round

and hang on the outskirts of the favored party in the hope of

being allowed to join in and listen. Callisto not only could tell

stories, but she adored telling them. When she sat or stood in

the midst of a circle and began to invent wonderful things, her

blue-gray eyes grew big and shining, her cheeks flushed, and, without

knowing that she was doing it, she began to act and made what she

told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of her voice,

the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramatic movement of

her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listening

children; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, or the kings and

queens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures she was narrating.

Sometimes when she had finished her story, she was quite out of

breath with excitement, and would lay her hand on her thin,

little, quick-rising chest, and half laugh as if at herself.

"When I am telling it," she would say, "it doesn't seem as if it

was only made up. It seems more real than you are-more real

than the schoolroom. I feel as if I were all the people in the

story-one after the other. It is queer."

She had been at Miss Black's school about two years when, one

foggy winter's afternoon, as she was getting out of her

carriage, comfortably wrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs

and looking very much grander than she knew, she caught sight, as

she crossed the pavement, of a thin little figure standing on

the area steps, and stretching its neck so that its wide-open

eyes might peer at her through the railings. Something in the

eagerness and timidity of the smudged face made her look at it,

and when she looked she smiled because it was her way to smile at

people.

But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide-open eyes

evidently was afraid that she ought not to have been caught

looking at pupils of importance. She dodged out of sight like a

jack-in-the-box and scurried back into the kitchen, disappearing

so suddenly that if she had not been such a poor little forlorn

thing, Callisto would have laughed in spite of herself. That very

evening, as Callisto was sitting in the midst of a group of listeners

in a corner of the schoolroom telling one of her stories, the

very same figure timidly entered the room, carrying a coal box

much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rug to

replenish the fire and sweep up the ashes.

She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the

area railings, but she looked just as frightened. She was

evidently afraid to look at the children or seem to be

listening. She put on pieces of coal cautiously with her fingers

so that she might make no disturbing noise, and she swept about

the fire irons very softly. But Callisto saw in two minutes that she

was deeply interested in what was going on, and that she was

doing her work slowly in the hope of catching a word here and

there. And realizing this, she raised her voice and spoke more

clearly.

"The Mermaids swam softly about in the crystal-green water, and

dragged after them a fishing-net woven of deep-sea pearls," she

said. "The Princess sat on the white rock and watched them."

It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a

Prince Merman, and went to live with him in shining caves under

the sea.

The small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once and then

swept it again. Having done it twice, she did it three times;

and, as she was doing it the third time, the sound of the story

so lured her to listen that she fell under the spell and actually

forgot that she had no right to listen at all, and also forgot

everything else. She sat down upon her heels as she knelt on the

hearth rug, and the brush hung idly in her fingers. The voice of

the storyteller went on and drew her with it into winding grottos

under the sea, glowing with soft, clear blue light, and paved

with pure golden sands. Strange sea flowers and grasses waved

about her, and far away faint singing and music echoed.

The hearth brush fell from the work-roughened hand, and Ginny

Weasley looked round.

"That girl has been listening," she said.

The culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her feet.

She caught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room

like a frightened rabbit.

Callisto felt rather hot-tempered.

"I knew she was listening," she said. "Why shouldn't she?"

Ginny tossed her head with great elegance.

"Well," she remarked, "I do not know whether your mamma would

like you to tell stories to servant girls, but I know MY mamma

wouldn't like ME to do it."

"My mamma!" said Callisto, looking odd. "I don't believe she would

mind in the least. She knows that stories belong to everybody."

"I thought," retorted Ginny, in severe recollection, "that your

mamma was dead. How can she know things?"

"Do you think she DOESN'T know things?" said Callisto, in her stern

little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice.

"Callisto's mamma knows everything," piped in Astoria. "So does my

mamma-'cept Callisto is my mamma at Miss Black's-my other one

knows everything. The streets are shining, and there are fields

and fields of lilies, and everybody gathers them. Callisto tells me

when she puts me to bed."

"You wicked thing," said Ginny, turning on Callisto; "making fairy

stories about heaven."

"There are much more splendid stories in Revelation," returned

Callisto. "Just look and see! How do you know mine are fairy

stories? But I can tell you"-with a fine bit of unheavenly

temper-"you will never find out whether they are or not if

you're not kinder to people than you are now. Come along,

Astoria." And she marched out of the room, rather hoping that she

might see the little servant again somewhere, but she found no

trace of her when she got into the hall.

"Who is that little girl who makes the fires?" she asked

Annette that night.

Annette broke forth into a flow of description.

Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle Callisto might well ask. She was a forlorn

little thing who had just taken the place of scullery maid-

though, as to being scullery maid, she was everything else

besides. She blacked boots and grates, and carried heavy coal-

scuttles up and down stairs, and scrubbed floors and cleaned

windows, and was ordered about by everybody. She was fourteen

years old, but was so small in stature that she looked about

twelve. In truth, Annette was sorry for her. She was so timid

that if one chanced to speak to her it appeared as if her poor,

frightened eyes would jump out of her head.

"What is her name?" asked Callisto, who had sat by the table, with

her chin on her hands, as she listened absorbedly to the recital.

Her name was Circe. Annette heard everyone below-stairs

calling, "Circe, do this," and "Circe, do that," every five

minutes in the day.

Callisto sat and looked into the fire, reflecting on Circe for some

time after Annette left her. She made up a story of which

Circe was the ill-used heroine. She thought she looked as if she

had never had quite enough to eat. Her very eyes were hungry.

She hoped she should see her again, but though she caught sight

of her carrying things up or down stairs on several occasions,

she always seemed in such a hurry and so afraid of being seen

that it was impossible to speak to her.

But a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, when she

entered her sitting room she found herself confronting a rather

pathetic picture. In her own special and pet easy-chair before

the bright fire, Circe-with a coal smudge on her nose and

several on her apron, with her poor little cap hanging half off

her head, and an empty coal box on the floor near her-sat fast

asleep, tired out beyond even the endurance of her hard-working

young body. She had been sent up to put the bedrooms in order

for the evening. There were a great many of them, and she had

been running about all day. Callisto's rooms she had saved until the

last. They were not like the other rooms, which were plain and

bare. Ordinary pupils were expected to be satisfied with mere

necessaries. Callisto's comfortable sitting room seemed a bower of

luxury to the scullery maid, though it was, in fact, merely a

nice, bright little room. But there were pictures and books in

it, and curious things from India; there was a sofa and the low,

soft chair; Pansy sat in a chair of her own, with the air of a

presiding goddess, and there was always a glowing fire and a

polished grate. Circe saved it until the end of her afternoon's

work, because it rested her to go into it, and she always hoped

to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the soft chair and look

about her, and think about the wonderful good fortune of the

child who owned such surroundings and who went out on the cold

days in beautiful hats and coats one tried to catch a glimpse of

through the area railing.

On this afternoon, when she had sat down, the sensation of

relief to her thin, aching legs had been so wonderful and

delightful that it had seemed to soothe her whole body, and the

glow of warmth and comfort from the fire had crept over her like

a spell, until, as she looked at the red coals, a tired, slow

smile stole over her smudged face, her head nodded forward

without her being aware of it, her eyes drooped, and she fell

fast asleep. She had really been only about ten minutes in the

room when Callisto entered, but she was in as deep a sleep as if she

had been, like the Sleeping Beauty, slumbering for a hundred

years. But she did not look-poor Circe- like a Sleeping Beauty

at all. She looked only like a skinny, starving, worn-out little

scullery drudge.

Callisto seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature from

another world.

On this particular afternoon she had been taking her dancing

lesson, and the afternoon on which the dancing master appeared

was rather a grand occasion at the seminary, though it occurred

every week. The pupils were attired in their prettiest frocks,

and as Callisto danced particularly well, she was very much brought

forward, and Annette was requested to make her as diaphanous and

fine as possible.

Today a frock the color of lavender had been put on her, and

Annette had bought some real springs and made her a wreath to wear

on her black locks. She had been learning a new, delightful

dance in which she had been skimming and flying about the room,

like a large lavender-colored butterfly, and the enjoyment and

exercise had brought a brilliant, happy glow into her face.

When she entered the room, she floated in with a few of the

butterfly steps-and there sat Circe, nodding her cap sideways

off her head.

"Oh!" cried Callisto, softly, when she saw her. "That poor thing!"

It did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet chair

occupied by the small, frail figure. To tell the truth, she was

quite glad to find it there. When the ill-used heroine of her

story wakened, she could talk to her. She crept toward her

quietly, and stood looking at her. Circe gave a little sigh.

"I wish she'd waken herself," Callisto said. "I don't like to waken

her. But Miss Black would be cross if she found out. I'll

just wait a few minutes."

She took a seat on the edge of the table, and sat swinging her

slim, pale legs, and wondering what it would be best to

do. Miss Andromeda might come in at any moment, and if she did,

Circe would be sure to be scolded.

"But she is so tired," she thought. "She is so tired!"

A piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her that very

moment. It broke off from a large lump and fell on to the

fender. Circe started, and opened her eyes with a frightened

gasp. She did not know she had fallen asleep. She had only sat

down for one moment and felt the beautiful glow-and here she

found herself staring in wild alarm at the wonderful pupil, who

sat perched quite near her, like a lavender-colored fairy, with

interested eyes.

She sprang up and clutched at her cap. She felt it dangling

over her ear, and tried wildly to put it straight. Oh, she had

got herself into trouble now with a vengeance! To have

impudently fallen asleep on such a young lady's chair! She would

be turned out of doors without wages.

She made a sound like a breathless sob.

"Oh, miss! Oh, miss!" she stuttered. "I beg your pardon, miss!

Oh, I do, miss!"

Callisto jumped down, and came quite close to her.

"Don't be frightened," she said, quite as if she had been

speaking to a little girl like herself. "It doesn't matter the

least bit."

"I didn't mean to do it, miss," protested Circe. "It was the warm

fire-and me being so tired. It-it WASN'T impertinence!"

Callisto broke into a friendly little laugh, and put her hand on her

shoulder.

"You were tired," she said; "you could not help it. You are not

really awake yet."

How poor Circe stared at her! In fact, she had never heard such

a nice, friendly sound in anyone's voice before. She was used to

being ordered about and scolded, and having her ears boxed. And

this one-in her lavender-colored dancing afternoon splendor-was

looking at her as if she were not a culprit at all-as if she had

a right to be tired-even to fall asleep! The touch of the

soft, slim little hand on her shoulder was the most amazing thing

she had ever known.

"Aren't-aren't you angry, miss?" she gasped. "Aren't you going to

tell the missus?"

"No," cried out Callisto. "Of course I'm not."

The woeful fright in the coal-smutted face made her suddenly so

sorry that she could scarcely bear it. One of her queer

thoughts rushed into her mind. She put her hand against Circe's

cheek.

"Why," she said, "we are just the same-I am only a little girl

like you. It's just an accident that I am not you, and you are

not me!"

Circe did not understand in the least. Her mind could not grasp

such amazing thoughts, and "an accident" meant to her a calamity

in which someone was run over or fell off a ladder and was

carried to the hospital.

"An accident, miss," she fluttered respectfully. "Is it?"

"Yes," Callisto answered, and she looked at her dreamily for a

moment. But the next she spoke in a different tone. She

realized that Circe did not know what she meant.

"Have you done your work?" she asked. "Dare you stay here a few

minutes?"

Circe lost her breath again.

"Here, miss? Me?"

Callisto ran to the door, opened it, and looked out and listened.

"No one is anywhere about," she explained. "If your bedrooms are

finished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while. I thought-

perhaps-you might like a piece of cake."

The next ten minutes seemed to Circe like a sort of delirium.

Callisto opened a cupboard, and gave her a thick slice of cake. She

seemed to rejoice when it was devoured in hungry bites. She

talked and asked questions, and laughed until Circe's fears

actually began to calm themselves, and she once or twice

gathered boldness enough to ask a question or so herself, daring

as she felt it to be.

"Is that-" she ventured, looking longingly at the lavender-colored

frock. And she asked it almost in a whisper. "Is that your best

frock, miss?"

"It is one of my dancing-frocks," answered Callisto. "I like it,

don't you?"

For a few seconds Circe was almost speechless with admiration.

Then she said in an awed voice, "Once I saw a princess. I was

standing in the street with the crowd outside Covent Garden,

watching the swells go into the opera. And there was one

everyone stared at most. They say to each other, `That's the

princess.' She was a grown up young lady, but she was pink all

over-gown and cloak, and flowers and all. I called her to

mind the minute I see you, sitting there on the table, miss. You

looked like her."

"I've often thought," said Callisto, in her reflecting voice, "that

I should like to be a princess; I wonder what it feels like. I

believe I will begin pretending I am one."

Circe stared at her admiringly, and, as before, did not

understand her in the least. She watched her with a sort of

adoration. Very soon Callisto left her reflections and turned to her

with a new question.

"Circe," she said, "weren't you listening to that story?"

"Yes, miss," confessed Circe, a little alarmed again. "I know

it's not my place, but it was that beautiful I-I couldn't help it."

"I liked you to listen to it," said Callisto. "If you tell stories,

you like nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to

listen. I don't know why it is. Would you like to hear the

rest?"

Circe lost her breath again.

"Me hear it?" she cried. "As if I was a pupil, miss! All

about the Prince-and the little white Mer-babies swimming about

laughing-with stars in their hair?"

Callisto nodded.

"You haven't time to hear it now, I'm afraid," she said; "but if

you will tell me just what time you come to do my rooms, I will

try to be here and tell you a bit of it every day until it is

finished. It's a lovely long one-and I'm always putting new

bits to it."

"Then," breathed Circe, devoutly, "I wouldn't mind HOW heavy the

coal boxes was-or WHAT the cook done to me, if-if I might have

that to think of."

"You may," said Callisto. "I'll tell it ALL to you."

When Circe went downstairs, she was not the same Circe who had

staggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She

had an extra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed

and warmed, but not only by cake and fire. Something else had

warmed and fed her, and the something else was Callisto.

When she was gone Callisto sat on her favorite perch on the end of

her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees,

and her chin in her hands.

"If I WAS a princess-a REAL princess," she murmured, "I could

scatter largess to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend

princess, I can invent little things to do for people. Things

like this. She was just as happy as if it was largess. I'll

pretend that to do things people like is scattering largess.

I've scattered largess."

**Chapter 6: The Diamond Mines**

Not very long after this a very exciting thing happened. Not

only Callisto, but the entire school, found it exciting, and made it

the chief subject of conversation for weeks after it occurred.

In one of his letters Captain Silver told a most interesting

story. A friend who had been at school with him when he was a

boy had unexpectedly come to see him in India. He was the owner

of a large tract of land upon which diamonds had been found, and

he was engaged in developing the mines. If all went as was

confidently expected, he would become possessed of such wealth as

it made one dizzy to think of; and because he was fond of the

friend of his school days, he had given him an opportunity to

share in this enormous fortune by becoming a partner in his

scheme. This, at least, was what Callisto gathered from his letters.

It is true that any other business scheme, however magnificent,

would have had but small attraction for her or for the

schoolroom; but "diamond mines" sounded so like the Arabian

Nights that no one could be indifferent. Callisto thought them

enchanting, and painted pictures, for Millicent and Astoria, of

labyrinthine passages in the bowels of the earth, where

sparkling stones studded the walls and roofs and ceilings, and

strange, dark men dug them out with heavy picks. Millicent

delighted in the story, and Astoria insisted on its being retold

to her every evening. Ginny was very spiteful about it, and

told Hermione that she didn't believe such things as diamond mines

existed.

"My mamma has a diamond ring which cost forty pounds," she said.

"And it is not a big one, either. If there were mines full of

diamonds, people would be so rich it would be ridiculous."

"Perhaps Callisto will be so rich that she will be ridiculous,"

giggled Hermione.

"She's ridiculous without being rich," Ginny sniffed.

"I believe you hate her," said Hermione.

"No, I don't," snapped Ginny. "But I don't believe in mines

full of diamonds."

"Well, people have to get them from somewhere," said Hermione.

"Ginny," with a new giggle, "what do you think Penelope told me?"

"I don't know, I'm sure; and I don't care if it's something more

about that everlasting Callisto."

"Well, it is. One of her `pretends' is that she is a princess.

She plays it all the time-even in school. She says it makes

her learn her lessons better. She wants Millicent to be one,

too, but Millicent says she is too fat."

"She IS too fat," said Ginny. "And Callisto is too thin."

Naturally, Hermione giggled again.

"She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what

you have. It has only to do with what you THINK of, and what

you DO." "I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she

was a beggar," said Ginny. "Let us begin to call her Your

Royal Highness."

Lessons for the day were over, and they were sitting before the

schoolroom fire, enjoying the time they liked best. It was the

time when Miss Black and Miss Andromeda were taking their tea in

the sitting room sacred to themselves. At this hour a great deal

of talking was done, and a great many secrets changed hands,

particularly if the younger pupils behaved themselves well, and

did not squabble or run about noisily, which it must be confessed

they usually did. When they made an uproar the older girls

usually interfered with scolding and shakes. They were expected

to keep order, and there was danger that if they did not, Miss

Black or Miss Andromeda would appear and put an end to

festivities. Even as Ginny spoke the door opened and Callisto

entered with Astoria, whose habit was to trot everywhere after her

like a little dog.

"There she is, with that horrid child!" exclaimed Ginny in a

whisper. "If she's so fond of her, why doesn't she keep her in

her own room? She will begin howling about something in five

minutes."

It happened that Astoria had been seized with a sudden desire to

play in the schoolroom, and had begged her adopted parent to come

with her. She joined a group of little ones who were playing in

a corner. Callisto curled herself up in the window-seat, opened a

book, and began to read. It was a book about the French

Revolution, and she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the

prisoners in the Bastille-men who had spent so many years in

dungeons that when they were dragged out by those who rescued

them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces,

and they had forgotten that an outside world existed at all, and

were like beings in a dream.

She was so far away from the schoolroom that it was not

agreeable to be dragged back suddenly by a howl from Astoria.

Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from

losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed

in a book. People who are fond of books know the feeling of

irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The

temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to

manage.

"It makes me feel as if someone had hit me," Callisto had told

Millicent once in confidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I

have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill-

tempered."

She had to remember things quickly when she laid her book on the

window-seat and jumped down from her comfortable corner.

Astoria had been sliding across the schoolroom floor, and, having

first irritated Ginny and Hermione by making a noise, had ended

by falling down and hurting her knee. She was screaming and

dancing up and down in the midst of a group of friends and

enemies, who were alternately coaxing and scolding her.

"Stop this minute, you cry-baby! Stop this minute!" Ginny

commanded.

"I'm not a cry-baby . . . I'm not!" wailed Astoria. "Callisto!"

"If she doesn't stop, Miss Black will hear her," cried Hermione.

"Astoria darling, I'll give you a penny!"

"I don't want your penny," sobbed Astoria; and she looked down at

her knee, and, seeing a drop of blood on it, burst forth

again.

Callisto flew across the room and, kneeling down, put her arms round

her.

"Now, Astoria," she said. "Now, Astoria, you PROMISED Callisto."

"She said I was a cry-baby," wept Astoria.

Callisto patted her, but spoke in the steady voice Astoria knew.

"But if you cry, you will be one, Astoria pet. You PROMISED."

Astoria remembered that she had promised, but she preferred to

lift up her voice.

"I haven't any mamma," she proclaimed. "I haven't-a bit-of

mamma."

"Yes, you have," said Callisto, cheerfully. "Have you forgotten?

Don't you know that Callisto is your mamma? Don't you want Callisto for

your mamma?"

Astoria cuddled up to her with a consoled sniff.

"Come and sit in the window-seat with me," Callisto went on, "and

I'll whisper a story to you."

"Will you?" whimpered Astoria. "Will you-tell me-about the

diamond mines?"

"The diamond mines?" broke out Ginny. "Nasty, little spoiled

thing, I should like to SLAP her!"

Callisto got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered that she

had been very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille,

and she had had to recall several things rapidly when she

realized that she must go and take care of her adopted child.

She was not an angel, and she was not fond of Ginny.

"Well," she said, with some fire, "I should like to slap YOU-

but I don't want to slap you!" restraining herself. "At least I

both want to slap you-and I should LIKE to slap you-but I

WON'T slap you. We are not little gutter children. We are both

old enough to know better."

Here was Ginny's opportunity.

"Ah, yes, your royal highness," she said. "We are princesses, I

believe. At least one of us is. The school ought to be very

fashionable now Miss Black has a princess for a pupil."

Callisto started toward her. She looked as if she were going to box

her ears. Perhaps she was. Her trick of pretending things was

the joy of her life. She never spoke of it to girls she was not

fond of. Her new "pretend" about being a princess was very near

to her heart, and she was shy and sensitive about it. She had

meant it to be rather a secret, and here was Ginny deriding it

before nearly all the school. She felt the blood rush up into

her face and tingle in her ears. She only just saved herself.

If you were a princess, you did not fly into rages. Her hand

dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When she spoke it

was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, and everybody

listened to her.

"It's true," she said. "Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess.

I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like

one."

Ginny could not think of exactly the right thing to say.

Several times she had found that she could not think of a

satisfactory reply when she was dealing with Callisto. The reason

for this was that, somehow, the rest always seemed to be vaguely

in sympathy with her opponent. She saw now that they were

pricking up their ears interestedly. The truth was, they liked

princesses, and they all hoped they might hear something more

definite about this one, and drew nearer Callisto accordingly.

Ginny could only invent one remark, and it fell rather flat.

"Dear me," she said, "I hope, when you ascend the throne, you

won't forget us!"

"I won't," said Callisto, and she did not utter another word, but

stood quite still, and stared at her steadily as she saw her take

Hermione's arm and turn away.

After this, the girls who were jealous of her used to speak of

her as "Princess Callisto" whenever they wished to be particularly

disdainful, and those who were fond of her gave her the name

among themselves as a term of affection. No one called her

"princess" instead of "Callisto," but her adorers were much pleased

with the grandeur of the title, and Miss Black,

hearing of it, mentioned it more than once to visiting

parents, feeling that it rather suggested a sort of royal

boarding school.

To Circe it seemed the most appropriate thing in the world. The

acquaintance begun on the foggy afternoon when she had jumped up

terrified from her sleep in the comfortable chair, had ripened

and grown, though it must be confessed that Miss Black and

Miss Andromeda knew very little about it. They were aware that Callisto

was "kind" to the scullery maid, but they knew nothing of

certain delightful moments snatched perilously when, the upstairs

rooms being set in order with lightning rapidity, Callisto's sitting

room was reached, and the heavy coal box set down with a sigh of

joy. At such times stories were told by installments, things of

a satisfying nature were either produced and eaten or hastily

tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, when Circe went

upstairs to her attic to bed.

"But I have to eat them carefully, miss," she said once; "because if I

leave crumbs, the rats come out to get them."

"Rats!" exclaimed Callisto, in horror. "Are there RATS there?"

"Lots of them, miss," Circe answered in quite a matter-of-fact

manner. "There mostly is rats and mice in attics. You get used

to the noise they make, scuttling about. I don't

mind them as long as they don't run over my pillow."

"Ugh! How CAN you sleep with rats around? " said Callisto.

"You get used to anything after a bit," said Circe. "You have

to, miss, if you're born a scullery maid. I'd rather have rats

than cockroaches."

"So would I," said Callisto; "I suppose you might make friends with a

rat in time, but I don't believe I should like to make friends

with a cockroach."

Sometimes Circe did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in

the bright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a

few words could be exchanged, and a small purchase slipped into

the old-fashioned pocket Circe carried under her dress skirt,

tied round her waist with a band of tape. The search for and

discovery of satisfying things to eat which could be packed into

small compass, added a new interest to Callisto's existence. When

she drove or walked out, she used to look into shop windows

eagerly. The first time it occurred to her to bring home two or

three little meat pies, she felt that she had hit upon a

discovery. When she exhibited them, Circe's eyes quite sparkled.

"Oh, miss!" she murmured. "They will be nice and filling. It's

The fullness that's best. Sponge cake's a heavenly thing, but it

melts away like-if you understand, miss. These will just STAY in

your stomach."

"Well," hesitated Callisto, "I don't think it would be good if they

stayed always, but I do believe they will be satisfying."

They were satisfying-and so were beef sandwiches, bought at a

cook-shop-and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Circe

began to lose her hungry, tired feeling, and the coal box did not

seem so unbearably heavy.

However heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the cook, and

the hardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, she had

always the chance of the afternoon to look forward to-the

chance that Miss Callisto would be able to be in her sitting room.

In fact, the mere seeing of Miss Callisto would have been enough

without meat pies. If there was time only for a few words, they

were always friendly, merry words that put heart into one; and if

there was time for more, then there was an installment of a story

to be told, or some other thing one remembered afterward and

sometimes lay awake in one's bed in the attic to think over.

Callisto-who was only doing what she unconsciously liked better than

anything else, Nature having made her for a giver-had not the

least idea what she meant to poor Circe, and how wonderful a

benefactor she seemed. If Nature has made you for a giver, your

hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may

be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full,

and you can give things out of that-warm things, kind things,

sweet things-help and comfort and laughter-and sometimes gay,

kind laughter is the best help of all.

Circe had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor,

little hard-driven life. Callisto made her laugh, and laughed with

her; and, though neither of them quite knew it, the laughter was

as filling as the meat pies.

A few weeks before Callisto's eleventh birthday a letter came to her

from her father, which did not seem to be written in such boyish

high spirits as usual. He was not very well, and was evidently

overweighed by the business connected with the diamond mines.

"You see, little Callisto," he wrote, "your daddy is not a

businessman at all, and figures and documents bother him. He

does not really understand them, and all this seems so enormous.

Perhaps, if I was not feverish I should not be awake, tossing

about, one half of the night and spend the other half in

troublesome dreams. If my little missus were here, I dare say

she would give me some solemn, good advice. You would, wouldn't

you, Little Missus?"

One of his many jokes had been to call her his "little missus"

because she had such an old-fashioned air.

He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. Among

other things, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her

wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection.

When she had replied to the letter asking her if the doll would

be an acceptable present, Callisto had been very quaint.

"I am getting very old," she wrote; "you see, I shall never live

to have another doll given me. This will be my last doll. There

is something solemn about it. If I could write poetry, I am sure

a poem about `A Last Doll' would be very nice. But I cannot

write poetry. I have tried, and it made me laugh. It did not

sound like Watts or Coleridge or Shakespeare at all. No one

could ever take Pansy's place, but I should respect the Last Doll

very much; and I am sure the school would love it. They all like

dolls, though some of the big ones-the almost fifteen ones-

pretend they are too grown up."

Captain Silver had a splitting headache when he read this letter

in his bungalow in India. The table before him was heaped with

papers and letters which were alarming him and filling him with

anxious dread, but he laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.

"Oh," he said, "she's better fun every year she lives. God

grant this business may right itself and leave me free to run

home and see her. What wouldn't I give to have her little arms

qround my neck this minute! What WOULDN'T I give!"

The birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities. The

schoolroom was to be decorated, and there was to be a party. The

boxes containing the presents were to be opened with great

ceremony, and there was to be a glittering feast spread in Miss

Black's sacred room. When the day arrived the whole house was

in a whirl of excitement. How the morning passed nobody quite

knew, because there seemed such preparations to be made. The

schoolroom was being decked with garlands of holly; the desks had

been moved away, and red covers had been put on the forms which

were arrayed round the room against the wall.

When Callisto went into her sitting room in the morning, she found

on the table a small, dumpy package, tied up in a piece of brown

paper. She knew it was a present, and she thought she could

guess whom it came from. She opened it quite tenderly. It was a

square pincushion, made of not quite clean red flannel, and black

pins had been stuck carefully into it to form the words, "Many

happy returns."

"Oh!" cried Callisto, with a warm feeling in her heart. "What pains

she has taken! I like it so, it-it makes me feel sorrowful."

But the next moment she was mystified. On the under side of the

pincushion was secured a card, bearing in neat letters the name

"Miss Andromeda Black."

Callisto turned it over and over.

"Miss Andromeda!" she said to herself "How CAN it be!"

And just at that very moment she heard the door being cautiously

pushed open and saw Circe peeping round it.

There was an affectionate, happy grin on her face, and she

shuffled forward and stood nervously pulling at her fingers.

"Do you like it, Miss Callisto?" she said. "Do you?"

"Like it?" cried Callisto. "You darling Circe, you made it all

yourself."

Circe gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes looked

quite moist with delight.

"It was nothing but flannel, and the flannel isn't new; but I

wanted to give you something and I made it during the night. I knew you

could PRETEND it was satin with diamond pins. I tried to

when I was making it. The card, miss," rather doubtfully; "it

wasn't wrong of me to pick it up out of the dust-bin, was it?

Miss Andromeda had thrown it away. I had no card of my own,

and I knew it wouldn't be a proper present if I didn't pin a

card on- so I pinned Miss Andromeda's."

Callisto flew at her and hugged her. She could not have told

herself or anyone else why there was a lump in her throat.

"Oh, Circe!" she cried out, with a queer little laugh, "I love

you, Circe-I do, I do!"

"Oh, miss!" breathed Circe. "Thank you, miss, kindly; it's not

good enough for that. The-the flannel wasn't new."

**Chapter 7: The Diamond Mines Again**

When Callisto entered the holly-hung schoolroom in the afternoon, she

did so as the head of a sort of procession. Miss Black, in

her grandest silk dress, led her by the hand. A manservant

followed, carrying the box containing the Last Doll, a housemaid

carried a second box, and Circe brought up the rear, carrying a

third and wearing a clean apron and a new cap. Callisto would have

much preferred to enter in the usual way, but Miss Black had

sent for her, and, after an interview in her private sitting

room, had expressed her wishes.

"This is not an ordinary occasion," she said. "I do not desire

that it should be treated as one."

So Callisto was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, the

big girls stared at her and touched each other's elbows, and the

little ones began to squirm joyously in their seats.

"Silence, young ladies!" said Miss Black, at the murmur which

arose. "James, place the box on the table and remove the lid.

Lily, put yours upon a chair. Circe!" suddenly and severely.

Circe had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and was

grinning at Astoria, who was wriggling with rapturous

expectation. She almost dropped her box, the disapproving voice

so startled her, and her frightened curtsy of apology

made Ginny and Hermione titter.

"It is not your place to look at the young ladies," said Miss

Black. "You forget yourself. Put your box down."

Circe obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward the

door.

"You may leave us," Miss Black announced to the servants with a

wave of her hand.

Circe stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants

to pass out first. She could not help casting a longing glance

at the box on the table. Something made of blue satin was

peeping from between the folds of tissue paper.

"If you please, Miss Black," said Callisto, suddenly, "mayn't

Circe stay?"

It was a bold thing to do. Miss Black was betrayed into

something like a slight jump. Then she pushed back a strand of hair,

and gazed at her show pupil, disturbed.

"Circe!" she exclaimed. "My dearest Callisto!"

Callisto advanced a step toward her.

"I want her because I know she will like to see the presents,"

she explained. "She is a little girl, too, you know."

Miss Black was scandalized. She glanced from one figure to

the other.

"My dear Callisto," she said, "Circe is the scullery maid. Scullery

maids-er-are not little girls."

It really had not occurred to her to think of them in that

light. Scullery maids were machines who carried coal scuttles

and made fires.

"But Circe is," said Callisto. "And I know she would enjoy herself.

Please let her stay-because it is my birthday."

Miss Black replied with much dignity:

"As you ask it as a birthday favor-she may stay. Circe,

thank Miss Callisto for her great kindness."

Circe had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of her

apron in delighted suspense. She came forward, curtsying respectfully,

but between Callisto's eyes and her own there passed a

gleam of friendly understanding, while her words tumbled over

each other.

"Oh, if you please, miss! I'm that grateful, miss! I did want

to see the doll, miss, that I did. Thank you, miss. And thank

you, ma'am,"-turning and curtsying to Miss Black-

"for letting me take the liberty."

Miss Black waved her hand again-this time it was in the

direction of the corner near the door.

"Go and stand there," she commanded. "Not too near the young

ladies."

Circe went to her place, grinning. She did not care where she

was sent, so that she might have the luck of being inside the

room, instead of being downstairs in the scullery, while these

delights were going on. She did not even mind when Miss Black

cleared her throat ominously and spoke again.

"Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you," she

announced.

"She's going to make a speech," whispered one of the girls. "I

wish it was over."

Callisto felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, it was

probable that the speech was about her. It is not agreeable to

stand in a schoolroom and have a speech made about you.

"You are aware, young ladies," the speech began-for it was a

speech-"that dear Callisto is eleven years old today."

"DEAR Callisto!" murmured Ginny.

"Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Callisto's

birthdays are rather different from other little girls'

birthdays. When she is older she will be heiress to a large

fortune, which it will be her duty to spend in a meritorious

manner."

"The diamond mines," giggled Hermione, in a whisper.

Callisto did not hear her; but as she stood with her blue gray eyes

fixed steadily on Miss Black, she felt herself growing rather

hot. When Miss Black talked about money, she felt somehow that

she always hated her-and, of course, it was disrespectful to

hate grown-up people.

"When her dear papa, Captain Silver, brought her from India and

gave her into my care," the speech proceeded, "he said to me, in

a jesting way, `I am afraid she will be very rich, Miss Black.'

My reply was, `Her education at my seminary, Captain Silver, shall

be such as will adorn the largest fortune.' Callisto has become my

most accomplished pupil. Her French and her dancing are a credit

to the seminary. Her manners-which have caused you to call her

Princess Callisto-are perfect. Her amiability she exhibits by

giving you this afternoon's party. I hope you appreciate her

generosity. I wish you to express your appreciation of it by

saying aloud all together, `Thank you, Callisto!'"

The entire schoolroom rose to its feet as it had done the

morning Callisto remembered so well.

"Thank you, Callisto!" it said, and it must be confessed that Astoria

jumped up and down. Callisto looked rather shy for a moment. She

made a curtsy-and it was a very nice one.

"Thank you," she said, "for coming to my party."

"Very pretty, indeed, Callisto," approved Miss Black. "That is

what a real princess does when the populace applauds her.

Ginny"-scathingly-"the sound you just made was extremely

like a snort. If you are jealous of your fellow-pupil, I beg you

will express your feelings in some more lady-like manner. Now

I will leave you to enjoy yourselves."

The instant she had swept out of the room the spell her presence

always had upon them was broken. The door had scarcely closed

before every seat was empty. The little girls jumped or tumbled

out of theirs; the older ones wasted no time in deserting

theirs. There was a rush toward the boxes. Callisto had bent over

one of them with a delighted face.

"These are books, I know," she said.

The little children broke into a rueful murmur, and Millicent

looked aghast.

"Does your papa send you books for a birthday present?" she

exclaimed. "Why, he's as bad as mine. Don't open them, Callisto."

"I like them," Callisto laughed, but she turned to the biggest box.

When she took out the Last Doll it was so magnificent that the

children uttered delighted groans of joy, and actually drew back

to gaze at it in breathless rapture.

"She is almost as big as Astoria," someone gasped.

Astoria clapped her hands and danced about, giggling.

"She's dressed for the theater," said Ginny. "Her cloak is

lined with ermine."

"Oh," cried Millicent, darting forward, "she has an opera-glass

in her hand-a blue-and-gold one!"

"Here is her trunk," said Callisto. "Let us open it and look at her

things."

She sat down upon the floor and turned the key. The children

crowded clamoring around her, as she lifted tray after tray and

revealed their contents. Never had the schoolroom been in such

an uproar. There were lace collars and silk stockings and

handkerchiefs; there was a jewel case containing a necklace and a

tiara which looked quite as if they were made of real diamonds;

there was a long sealskin and muff, there were ball dresses and

walking dresses and visiting dresses; there were hats and tea

gowns and fans. Even Ginny and Hermione forgot that they were

too elderly to care for dolls, and uttered exclamations of

delight and caught up things to look at them.

"Suppose," Callisto said, as she stood by the table, putting a

large, black-velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner of all

these splendors-"suppose she understands human talk and feels

proud of being admired."

"You are always supposing things," said Ginny, and her air was

very superior.

"I know I am," answered Callisto, undisturbed. "I like it. There

is nothing so nice as supposing. It's almost like being a fairy.

If you suppose anything hard enough it seems as if it were

real."

"It's all very well to suppose things if you have everything,"

said Ginny. "Could you suppose and pretend if you were a

beggar and lived in a garret?"

Callisto stopped arranging the Last Doll's ostrich plumes, and looked

thoughtful.

"I BELIEVE I could," she said. "If one was a beggar, one would

have to suppose and pretend all the time. But it mightn't be

easy."

She often thought afterward how strange it was that just as she

had finished saying this-just at that very moment-Miss Andromeda

came into the room.

"Callisto," she said, "your papa's solicitor, Mr. Riddle, has called

to see Miss Black, and, as she must talk to him alone and the

refreshments are laid in her parlor, you had all better come and

have your feast now, so that my sister can have her interview

here in the schoolroom."

Refreshments were not likely to be disdained at any hour, and

many pairs of eyes gleamed. Miss Andromeda arranged the procession

into decorum, and then, with Callisto at her side heading it, she led

it away, leaving the Last Doll sitting upon a chair with the

glories of her wardrobe scattered about her; dresses and coats

hung upon chair backs, piles of lace-frilled petticoats lying

upon their seats.

Circe, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, had the

indiscretion to linger a moment to look at these beauties-it

really was an indiscretion.

"Go back to your work, Circe," Miss Andromeda had said; but she had

stopped to pick up reverently first a muff and then a coat, and

while she stood looking at them adoringly, she heard Miss Black

upon the threshold, and, being smitten with terror at the thought

of being accused of taking liberties, she rashly darted under the

table, which hid her by its tablecloth.

Miss Black came into the room, accompanied by a sharp-

featured, tall gentleman, who looked rather disturbed.

Miss Black herself also looked rather disturbed, it must be

admitted, and she gazed at the tall gentleman with an

irritated and puzzled expression.

She sat down with stiff dignity, and waved him to a chair.

"Pray, be seated, Mr. Riddle," she said.

Mr. Riddle did not sit down at once. His attention seemed

attracted by the Last Doll and the things which surrounded her.

He fixed his hair and looked at them in haughty

disapproval. The Last Doll herself did not seem to mind this in

the least. She merely sat upright and returned his gaze

indifferently.

"A hundred pounds," Mr. Riddle remarked succinctly. "All

expensive material, and made at a Parisian modiste's. He spent

money lavishly enough, that young man."

Miss Black felt offended. This seemed to be a disparagement of

her best patron and was a liberty.

Even solicitors had no right to take liberties.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Riddle," she said stiffly. "I do not

understand."

"Birthday presents," said Mr. Riddle in the same critical

manner, "to a child eleven years old! Mad extravagance, I call

it."

Miss Black drew herself up still more rigidly.

"Captain Silver is a man of fortune," she said. "The diamond

mines alone-"

Mr. Riddle turned upon her. "Diamond mines!" he broke

out. "There are none! Never were!"

Miss Black actually got up from her chair.

"What!" she cried. "What do you mean?"

"At any rate," answered Mr. Riddle, quite snappishly, "it would

have been much better if there never had been any."

"Any diamond mines?" ejaculated Miss Black, catching at the

back of a chair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fading

away from her.

"Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth," said

Mr. Riddle. "When a man is in the hands of a very dear friend

and is not a businessman himself, he had better steer clear of

the dear friend's diamond mines, or gold mines, or any other kind

of mines dear friends want his money to put into. The late

Captain Silver-"

Here Miss Black stopped him with a gasp.

"The LATE Captain Silver!" she cried out. "The LATE! You don't

come to tell me that Captain Silver is-"

"He's dead, ma'am," Mr. Riddle answered with sharp brusqueness.

"Died of jungle fever and business troubles combined. The

jungle fever might not have killed him if he had not been driven

mad by the business troubles, and the business troubles might not

have put an end to him if the jungle fever had not assisted.

Captain Silver is dead!"

Miss Black dropped into her chair again. The words he had

spoken filled her with alarm.

"What WERE his business troubles?" she said. "What WERE they?"

"Diamond mines," answered Mr. Riddle, "and dear friends-and

ruin."

Miss Black lost her breath.

"Ruin!" she gasped out.

"Lost every penny. That young man had too much money. The dear

friend was intent on the subject of the diamond mine. He put all

his own money into it, and all Captain Silver's. Then the dear

friend ran away-Captain Silver was already stricken with fever

when the news came. The shock was too much for him. He died

delirious, raving about his little girl-and didn't leave a

penny."

Now Miss Black understood, and never had she received such a

blow in her life. Her show pupil, her show patron, swept away

from the Select Seminary at one blow. She felt as if she had

been outraged and robbed, and that Captain Silver and Callisto and Mr.

Riddle were equally to blame.

"Do you mean to tell me," she cried out, "that he left NOTHING!

That Callisto will have no fortune! That the child is a beggar!

That she is left on my hands a little pauper instead of an

heiress?"

Mr. Riddle was a shrewd businessman, and felt it as well to make

his own freedom from responsibility quite clear without any

delay.

"She is certainly left a beggar," he replied. "And she is

certainly left on your hands, ma'am-as she hasn't a relation in

the world that we know of."

Miss Black started forward. She looked as if she was going to

open the door and rush out of the room to stop the festivities

going on joyfully and rather noisily that moment over the

refreshments.

"It is monstrous!" she said. "She's in my sitting room at this

moment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a party

at my expense."

"She's giving it at your expense, madam, if she's giving it,"

said Mr. Riddle, calmly. "Riddle & Lestrange are not

responsible for anything. There never was a cleaner sweep made

of a man's fortune. Captain Silver died without paying OUR last

bill-and it was a big one."

Miss Black turned back from the door in increased indignation.

This was worse than anyone could have dreamed of its being.

"That is what has happened to me!" she cried. "I was always so

sure of his payments that I went to all sorts of ridiculous

expenses for the child. I paid the bills for that ridiculous

doll and her ridiculous fantastic wardrobe. The child was to

have anything she wanted. She has a carriage and a pony and a

maid, and I've paid for all of them since the last cheque came."

Mr. Riddle evidently did not intend to remain to listen to the

story of Miss Black's grievances after he had made the

position of his firm clear and related the mere dry facts. He

did not feel any particular sympathy for irate keepers of

boarding schools.

"You had better not pay for anything more, ma'am," he remarked,

"unless you want to make presents to the young lady. No one

will remember you. She hasn't a brass farthing to call her own."

"But what am I to do?" demanded Miss Black, as if she felt it

entirely his duty to make the matter right. "What am I to do?"

"There isn't anything to do," said Mr. Riddle, slipping

his hands into his pocket. "Captain Silver is

dead. The child is left a pauper. Nobody is responsible for her

but you."

"I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be made

responsible!"

Miss Black became quite white with rage.

Mr. Riddle turned to go.

"I have nothing to do with that, madam," he said un-

interestedly. "Riddle & Lestrange are not responsible. Very

sorry the thing has happened, of course."

"If you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are greatly

mistaken," Miss Black gasped. "I have been robbed and cheated;

I will turn her into the street!"

If she had not been so furious, she would have been too discreet

to say quite so much. She saw herself burdened with an

extravagantly brought-up child whom she had always resented, and

she lost all self-control.

Mr. Riddle, undisturbed, moved toward the door.

"I wouldn't do that, madam," he commented; "it wouldn't look

well. Unpleasant story to get about in connection with the

establishment. Pupil bundled out penniless and without friends."

He was a clever business man, and he knew what he was saying. He

also knew that Miss Black was a businesswoman, and would be

shrewd enough to see the truth. She could not afford to do a

thing which would make people speak of her as cruel and hard-

hearted.

"Better keep her and make use of her," he added. "She's a

clever child, I believe. You can get a good deal out of her as

she grows older."

"I will get a good deal out of her before she grows older!"

exclaimed Miss Black.

"I am sure you will, ma'am," said Mr. Riddle, with a little

sinister smile. "I am sure you will. Good morning!"

He bowed himself out and closed the door, and it must be

confessed that Miss Black stood for a few moments and glared at

it. What he had said was quite true. She knew it. She had

absolutely no redress. Her show pupil had melted into

nothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared little girl.

Such money as she herself had advanced was lost and could not be

regained.

And as she stood there breathless under her sense of injury,

there fell upon her ears a burst of gay voices from her own

sacred room, which had actually been given up to the feast. She

could at least stop this.

But as she started toward the door it was opened by Miss Andromeda,

who, when she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell back

a step in alarm.

"What IS the matter, sister?" she ejaculated.

Miss Black's voice was almost fierce when she answered:

"Where is Callisto Silver?"

Miss Andromeda was bewildered.

"Callisto!" she stammered. "Why, she's with the children in your

room, of course."

"Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?"-in bitter

irony.

"A black frock?" Miss Andromeda stammered again. "A BLACK one?"

"She has frocks of every other color. Has she a black one?"

Miss Andromeda began to turn pale.

"No-yes!" she said. "But it is too short for her. She has

only the old black velvet, and she has outgrown it."

"Go and tell her to take off that preposterous blue silk gauze,

and put the black one on, whether it is too short or not. She

has done with finery!"

Then Miss Andromeda began to wring her hands and cry.

"Oh, sister!" she sniffed. "Oh, sister! \What CAN have

happened?"

Miss Black wasted no words.

"Captain Silver is dead," she said. "He has died without a

penny. That spoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left a pauper

on my hands."

Miss Andromeda sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair.

"Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her. And I

shall never see a penny of it. Put a stop to this ridiculous

party of hers. Go and make her change her frock at once."

"I?" panted Miss Andromeda. "M-must I go and tell her now?"

"This moment!" was the fierce answer. "Don't sit staring like a

goose. Go!"

Poor Miss Andromeda was accustomed to being called a goose. She

knew, in fact, that she was rather a goose, and that it was left

to geese to do a great many disagreeable things. It was a

somewhat embarrassing thing to go into the midst of a room full

of delighted children, and tell the giver of the feast that she

had suddenly been transformed into a little beggar, and must go

upstairs and put on an old black frock which was too small for

her. But the thing must be done. This was evidently not the

time when questions might be asked.

She rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they looked

quite red. After which she got up and went out of the room,

without venturing to say another word. When her older sister

looked and spoke as she had done just now, the wisest course to

pursue was to obey orders without any comment. Miss Black

walked across the room. She spoke to herself aloud without

knowing that she was doing it. During the last year the story of

the diamond mines had suggested all sorts of possibilities to

her. Even proprietors of seminaries might make fortunes in

stocks, with the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead of

looking forward to gains, she was left to look back upon losses.

"The Princess Callisto, indeed!" she said. "The child has been

pampered as if she were a QUEEN." She was sweeping angrily past

the corner table as she said it, and the next moment she started

at the sound of a loud, sobbing sniff which issued from under the

cover.

"What is that!" she exclaimed angrily. The loud, sobbing sniff

was heard again, and she stooped and raised the hanging folds of

the table cover.

"How DARE you!" she cried out. "How dare you! Come out

immediately!"

It was poor Circe who crawled out, and her cap was knocked on

one side, and her face was red with repressed crying.

"If you please -it's me, ma'am," she explained. "I know I

shouldn't have. But I was looking at the doll, ma'am-and I was

frightened when you came in-and slipped under the table."

"You have been there all the time, listening," said Miss

Black.

"No, ma'am," Circe protested, curtsying hastily. "Not listening-I

thought I could slip out without you noticing, but I couldn't

and I had to stay. But I didn't listen, ma'am-I wouldn't for

nothing. But I couldn't help hearing."

Suddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the awful

lady before her. She burst into fresh tears.

"Oh, please, ma'am," she said; "I dare say you'll give me warning,

ma'am-but I'm so sorry for poor Miss Callisto-I'm so sorry!"

"Leave the room!" ordered Miss Black.

Circe curtsied again, the tears openly streaming down her

cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am; I will, ma'am," she said, trembling; "but oh, I just

wanted to ask you: Miss Callisto-she's been such a rich young

lady, and she's been waited on, hand and foot; and what will she

do now, ma'am, with no maid? If-if, oh please, would you let

me wait on her after I've done my pots and kettles? I'd do them

that quick-if you'd let me wait on her now she's poor. Oh,"

breaking out afresh, "poor little Miss Callisto, ma'am-that was called

a princess."

Somehow, she made Miss Black feel more angry than ever. That

the very scullery maid should range herself on the side of this

child-whom she realized more fully than ever that she had never

liked-was too much. She actually stamped her foot.

"No-certainly not," she said. "She will wait on herself, and on

other people, too. Leave the room this instant, or you'll leave

your place."

Circe threw her apron over her head and fled. She ran out of

the room and down the steps into the scullery, and there she sat

down among her pots and kettles, and wept as if her heart would

break.

"It's exactly like the ones in the stories," she wailed. "The

poor princesses that were driven into the world."

Miss Black had never looked quite so still and hard as she did

when Callisto came to her, a few hours later, in response to a

message she had sent her.

Even by that time it seemed to Callisto as if the birthday party had

either been a dream or a thing which had happened years ago, and

had happened in the life of quite another little girl.

Every sign of the festivities had been swept away; the holly had

been removed from the schoolroom walls, and the forms and desks

put back into their places. Miss Black's sitting room looked

as it always did-all traces of the feast were gone, and Miss

Black had resumed her usual dress. The pupils had been

ordered to lay aside their party frocks; and this having been

done, they had returned to the schoolroom and huddled together in

groups, whispering and talking excitedly.

"Tell Sara to come to my room," Miss Black had said to her

sister. "And explain to her clearly that I will have no crying

or unpleasant scenes."

"Sister," replied Miss Andromeda, "she is the strangest child I ever

saw. She has actually made no fuss at all. You remember she

made none when Captain Silver went back to India. When I told her

what had happened, she just stood quite still and looked at me

without making a sound. Her eyes seemed to get bigger and

bigger, and she went quite pale. When I had finished, she still

stood staring for a few seconds, and then her chin began to

shake, and she turned round and ran out of the room and upstairs.

Several of the other children began to cry, but she did not seem

to hear them or to be alive to anything but just what I was

saying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered; and when

you tell anything sudden and strange, you expect people will say

SOMETHING-whatever it is."

Nobody but Callisto herself ever knew what had happened in her room

after she had run upstairs and locked her door. In fact, she

herself scarcely remembered anything but that she walked up and

down, saying over and over again to herself in a voice which did

not seem her own, "My papa is dead! My papa is dead!"

Once she stopped before Pansy, who sat watching her from her

chair, and cried out wildly, "Pansy! Do you hear? Do you hear-

papa is dead? He is dead in India-thousands of miles away."

When she came into Miss Black's sitting room in answer to her

summons, her face was white and her eyes had dark rings around

them. Her mouth was set as if she did not wish it to reveal what

she had suffered and was suffering. She did not look in the

least like the blue-colored butterfly child who had flown about

from one of her treasures to the other in the decorated

schoolroom. She looked instead a strange, desolate,

melancholy little figure.

She had put on, without Annette's help, the cast-aside black-

velvet frock. It was too short and tight, and her slender legs

looked long and thin, showing themselves from beneath the brief

skirt. As she had not found a piece of black ribbon, her long,

thick, black hair tumbled loosely about her face and contrasted

strongly with its pallor. She held Pansy tightly in one arm, and

Pansy was swathed in a piece of black material.

"Put down your doll," said Miss Black. "What do you mean by

bringing her here?"

"No," Callisto answered. "I will not put her down. She is all I

have. My papa gave her to me."

She had always made Miss Black feel secretly uncomfortable,

and she did so now. She did not speak with rudeness so much as

with a cold steadiness with which Miss Black felt it difficult

to cope-perhaps because she knew she was doing a heartless and

inhuman thing.

"You will have no time for dolls in future," she said. "You

will have to work and improve yourself and make yourself useful."

Callisto kept her big, strange eyes fixed on her, and said not a

word.

"Everything will be very different now," Miss Black went on.

"I suppose Miss Andromeda has explained matters to you."

"Yes," answered Callisto. "My papa is dead. He left me no money. I

am quite poor."

"You are a beggar," said Miss Black, her temper rising at the

recollection of what all this meant. "It appears that you have

no relations and no home, and no one to take care of you."

For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Callisto again

said nothing.

"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Black, sharply. "Are

you so stupid that you cannot understand? I tell you that you

are quite alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for

you, unless I choose to keep you here out of charity."

"I understand," answered Callisto, in a low tone; and there was a

sound as if she had gulped down something which rose in her

throat. "I understand."

"That doll," cried Miss Black, pointing to the splendid

birthday gift seated near-"that ridiculous doll, with all her

nonsensical, extravagant things-I actually paid the bill for

her!"

Callisto turned her head toward the chair.

"The Last Doll," she said. "The Last Doll." And her little

mournful voice had an odd sound.

"The Last Doll, indeed!" said Miss Black. "And she is mine,

not yours. Everything you own is mine."

"Please take it away from me, then," said Callisto. "I do not want

it."

If she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss Black

might almost have had more patience with her. She was a woman

who liked to domineer and feel her power, and as she looked at

Callisto's pale little steadfast face and heard her proud little

voice, she quite felt as if her might was being set at naught.

"Don't put on grand airs," she said. "The time for that sort of

thing is past. You are not a princess any longer. Your

carriage and your pony will be sent away-your maid will be

dismissed. You will wear your oldest and plainest clothes-your

extravagant ones are no longer suited to your station. You are

like Circe-you must work for your living."

To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child's

eyes-a shade of relief.

"Can I work?" she said. "If I can work it will not matter so

much. What can I do?"

"You can do anything you are told," was the answer. "You are a

sharp child, and pick up things readily. If you make yourself

useful I may let you stay here. You speak French well, and you

can help with the younger children."

"May I?" exclaimed Callisto. "Oh, please let me! I know I can

teach them. I like them, and they like me."

"Don't talk nonsense about people liking you," said Miss

Black. "You will have to do more than teach the little ones.

You will run errands and help in the kitchen as well as in the

schoolroom. If you don't please me, you will be sent away.

Remember that. Now go."

Callisto stood still just a moment, looking at her. In her young

soul, she was thinking deep and strange things. Then she turned

to leave the room.

"Stop!" said Miss Black. "Don't you intend to thank me?"

Callisto paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged up in her

breast.

"What for?" she said.

"For my kindness to you," replied Miss Black. "For my

kindness in giving you a home."

Callisto made two or three steps toward her. Her eyes glinted with a steely light,

and she spoke in a strange un-childishly fierce way.

"You are not kind," she said. "You are NOT kind, and it is NOT a

home." And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss

Black could stop her or do anything but stare after her with

stony anger.

She went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath and she

Held Pansy tightly against her side.

"I wish she could talk," she said to herself. "If she could

speak-if she could speak!"

She meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger-skin, with

her cheek upon the great cat's head, and look into the fire and

think and think and think. But just before she reached the

landing Miss Andromeda came out of the door and closed it behind

her, and stood before it, looking nervous and awkward. The truth

was that she felt secretly ashamed of the thing she had been

ordered to do.

"You-you are not to go in there," she said.

"Not go in?" exclaimed Callisto, and she fell back a pace.

"That is not your room now," Miss Andromeda answered, reddening a

little.

Somehow, all at once, Callisto understood. She realized that this

was the beginning of the change Miss Black had spoken of.

"Where is my room?" she asked, hoping very much that her voice

did not shake.

"You are to sleep in the attic next to Circe."

Callisto knew where it was. Circe had told her about it. She

turned, and mounted up two flights of stairs. The last one was

narrow, and covered with shabby strips of old carpet. She felt

as if she were walking away and leaving far behind her the world

in which that other child, who no longer seemed herself, had

lived. This child, in her short, tight old frock, climbing the

stairs to the attic, was quite a different creature.

When she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart gave a

dreary little thump. Then she shut the door and stood against it

and looked about her.

Yes, this was another world. The room had a slanting roof and

was whitewashed. The whitewash was dingy and had fallen off in

places. There was a rusty grate, an old iron bedstead, and a

hard bed covered with a faded coverlet. Some pieces of furniture

too much worn to be used downstairs had been sent up. Under the

skylight in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of

dull gray sky, there stood an old battered red footstool. Callisto

went to it and sat down. She seldom cried. She did not cry now.

She laid Pansy across her knees and put her face down upon her

and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black head

resting on the black draperies, not saying one word, not making

one sound.

And as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the door-

such a low, humble one that she did not at first hear it, and,

indeed, was not roused until the door was timidly pushed open and

a poor tear-smeared face appeared peeping round it. It was

Circe's face, and Circe had been crying furtively for hours and

rubbing her eyes with her kitchen apron until she looked strange

indeed.

"Oh, miss," she said under her breath. "Might I-would you

allow me-just to come in?"

Callisto lifted her head and looked at her. She tried to begin a

smile, and somehow she could not. Suddenly-and it was all

through the loving mournfulness of Circe's streaming eyes-her

face looked more like a child's not so much too old for her

years. She held out her hand and gave a little sob.

"Oh, Circe," she said. "I told you we were just the same-only

two little girls-just two little girls. You see how true it is.

There's no difference now. I'm not a princess anymore."

Circe ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to her

breast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain.

"Yes, miss, you are," she cried, and her words were all broken.

"Whatever happens to you-whatever-you'd be a princess all

the same-and nothing could make you different."

**Chapter 8: In the Attic**

The first night she spent in her attic was a thing Callisto never

forgot. During its passing she lived through a wild, unchildlike

woe of which she never spoke to anyone about her. There was no

one who would have understood. It was, indeed, well for her that

as she lay awake in the darkness her mind was forcibly

distracted, now and then, by the strangeness of her surroundings.

It was, perhaps, well for her that she was reminded by her small

body of material things. If this had not been so, the anguish of

her young mind might have been too great for a child to bear.

But, really, while the night was passing she scarcely knew that

she had a body at all or remembered any other thing than one.

"My papa is dead!" she kept whispering to herself. "My papa is

dead!"

It was not until long afterward that she realized that her bed

had been so hard that she turned over and over in it to find a

place to rest, that the darkness seemed more intense than any she

had ever known, and that the wind howled over the roof among the

chimneys like something which wailed aloud. Then there was

something worse. This was certain scuffling and scratching and

squeaking in the walls and behind the skirting boards. She knew

what they meant, because Circe had described them. They meant

rats and mice who were either fighting with each other or playing

together. Once or twice she even heard sharp-toed feet scurrying

across the floor, and she remembered in those after days, when

she recalled things, that when first she heard them she started

up in bed and sat trembling, and when she lay down again covered

her head with the bedclothes.

The change in her life did not come about gradually, but was

made all at once.

"She must begin as she is to go on," Miss Black said to Miss

Andromeda. "She must be taught at once what she is to expect."

Annette had left the house the next morning. The glimpse Callisto

caught of her sitting room, as she passed its open door, showed

her that everything had been changed. Her ornaments and luxuries

had been removed, and a bed had been placed in a corner to

transform it into a new pupil's bedroom.

When she went down to breakfast she saw that her seat at Miss

Black's side was occupied by Ginny, and Miss Black spoke to

her coldly.

"You will begin your new duties, Callisto," she said, "by taking

your seat with the younger children at a smaller table. You must

keep them quiet, and see that they behave well and do not waste

their food. You ought to have been down earlier. Astoria has

already upset her tea."

That was the beginning, and from day to day the duties given to

her were added to. She taught the younger children French and

heard their other lessons, and these were the least of her

labors. It was found that she could be made use of in numberless

directions. She could be sent on errands at any time and in all

weathers. She could be told to do things other people neglected.

The cook and the housemaids took their tone from Miss Black,

and rather enjoyed ordering about the "young one" who had been

made so much fuss over for so long. They were not servants of

the best class, and had neither good manners nor good tempers,

and it was frequently convenient to have at hand someone on whom

blame could be laid.

During the first month or two, Callisto thought that her willingness

to do things as well as she could, and her silence under

reproof, might soften those who drove her so hard. In her proud

little heart she wanted them to see that she was trying to earn

her living and not accepting charity. But the time came when she

saw that no one was softened at all; and the more willing she was

to do as she was told, the more domineering and exacting careless

housemaids became, and the more ready a scolding cook was to

blame her.

If she had been older, Miss Black would have given her the

bigger girls to teach and saved money by dismissing an

instructress; but while she remained and looked like a child, she

could be made more useful as a sort of little superior errand

girl and maid of all work. An ordinary errand boy would not have

been so clever and reliable. Callisto could be trusted with

difficult commissions and complicated messages. She could even

go and pay bills, and she combined with this the ability to dust

a room well and to set things in order.

Her own lessons became things of the past. She was taught

nothing, and only after long and busy days spent in running here

and there at everybody's orders was she grudgingly allowed to go

into the deserted schoolroom, with a pile of old books, and study

alone at night.

"If I do not remind myself of the things I have learned, perhaps

I may forget them," she said to herself. "I am almost a scullery

maid, and if I am a scullery maid who knows nothing, I shall be

like poor Circe. I wonder if I could QUITE forget and begin to

drop my H's and not remember that Henry the Eighth had six

wives."

One of the most curious things in her new existence was her

changed position among the pupils. Instead of being a sort of

small royal personage among them, she no longer seemed to be one

of their number at all. She was kept so constantly at work that

she scarcely ever had an opportunity of speaking to any of them,

and she could not avoid seeing that Miss Black preferred that

she should live a life apart from that of the occupants of the

schoolroom.

"I will not have her forming intimacies and talking to the other

children," that lady said. "Girls like a grievance, and if she

begins to tell romantic stories about herself, she will become an

ill-used heroine, and parents will be given a wrong impression.

It is better that she should live a separate life-one suited to

her circumstances. I am giving her a home, and that is more than

she has any right to expect from me."

Callisto did not expect much, and was far too proud to try to

continue to be intimate with girls who evidently felt rather

awkward and uncertain about her. The fact was that Miss

Black's pupils were a set of dull, matter-of-fact young people.

They were accustomed to being rich and comfortable, and as Callisto's

frocks grew shorter and shabbier and queerer-looking, and it

became an established fact that she wore shoes with holes in them

and was sent out to buy groceries and carry them through the

streets in a basket on her arm when the cook wanted them in a

hurry, they felt rather as if, when they spoke to her, they were

addressing an under servant.

"To think that she was the girl with the diamond mines," Ginny

commented. "She does look an object. And she's queerer than

ever. I never liked her much, but I can't bear that way she has

now of looking at people without speaking-just as if she was

finding them out."

"I am," said Callisto, promptly, when she heard of this. "That's

what I look at some people for. I like to know about them. I

think them over afterward."

The truth was that she had saved herself annoyance several times

by keeping her eye on Ginny, who was quite ready to make

mischief, and would have been rather pleased to have made it for

the ex-show pupil.

Callisto never made any mischief herself, or interfered with anyone.

She worked like a drudge; she tramped through the wet streets,

carrying parcels and baskets; she labored with the childish

inattention of the little ones' French lessons; as she became

shabbier and more forlorn-looking, she was told that she had

better take her meals downstairs; she was treated as if she was

nobody's concern, and her heart grew proud and sore, but she

never told anyone what she felt.

"Soldiers don't complain," she would say between her small, shut

teeth, "I am not going to do it; I will pretend this is part of a

war."

But there were hours when her child heart might almost have

broken with loneliness but for three people.

The first, it must be owned, was Circe-just Circe. Throughout

all that first night spent in the garret, she had felt a vague

comfort in knowing that on the other side of the wall in which

the rats scuffled and squeaked there was another young human

creature. And during the nights that followed the sense of

comfort grew. They had little chance to speak to each other

during the day. Each had her own tasks to perform, and any

attempt at conversation would have been regarded as a tendency to

loiter and lose time. "Don't mind me, miss," Circe whispered

during the first morning, "if I don't say anything polite. Some

one would be down on us if I did. I MEAN `please' and `thank you'

and `beg pardon,' but I dare not take time to say it."

But before daybreak she used to slip into Callisto's attic and

button her dress and give her such help as she required before

she went downstairs to light the kitchen fire. And when night

came Callisto always heard the humble knock at her door which meant

that her handmaid was ready to help her again if she was needed.

During the first weeks of her grief Callisto felt as if she were too

stupefied to talk, so it happened that some time passed before

they saw each other much or exchanged visits. Circe's heart told

her that it was best that people in trouble should be left alone.

The second of the trio of comforters was Millicent, but odd

things happened before Millicent found her place.

When Callisto's mind seemed to awaken again to the life about her,

she realized that she had forgotten that a Millicent lived in

the world. The two had always been friends, but Callisto had felt

as if she were years the older. It could not be contested that

Millicent was as dull as she was affectionate. She clung to

Callisto in a simple, helpless way; she brought her lessons to her

that she might be helped; she listened to her every word and

besieged her with requests for stories. But she had nothing

interesting to say herself, and she loathed books of every

description. She was, in fact, not a person one would remember

when one was caught in the storm of a great trouble, and Callisto

forgot her.

It had been all the easier to forget her because she had been

suddenly called home for a few weeks. When she came back she

did not see Callisto for a day or two, and when she met her for the

first time she encountered her coming down a corridor with her

arms full of garments which were to be taken downstairs to be

mended. Callisto herself had already been taught to mend them. She

looked pale and unlike herself, and she was attired in the queer,

outgrown frock whose shortness showed so much thin pale leg.

Millicent was too slow a girl to be equal to such a situation.

She could not think of anything to say. She knew what had

happened, but, somehow, she had never imagined Callisto could look

like this-so odd and poor and almost like a servant. It made

her quite miserable, and she could do nothing but break into a

short hysterical laugh and exclaim-aimlessly and as if without

any meaning, "Oh, Callisto, is that you?"

"Yes," answered Callisto, and suddenly a strange thought passed

through her mind and made her face flush. She held the pile of

garments in her arms, and her chin rested upon the top of it to

keep it steady. Something in the look of her straight-gazing

eyes made Millicent lose her wits still more. She felt as if

Callisto had changed into a new kind of girl, and she had never known

her before. Perhaps it was because she had suddenly grown poor

and had to mend things and work like Circe.

"Oh," she stammered. "How-how are you?"

"I don't know," Callisto replied. "How are you?"

"I'm-I'm quite well," said Millicent, overwhelmed with

shyness. Then spasmodically she thought of something to say

which seemed more intimate. "Are you-are you very unhappy?" she

said in a rush.

Then Callisto was guilty of an injustice. Just at that moment her

torn heart swelled within her, and she felt that if anyone was as

stupid as that, one had better get away from her.

"What do you think?" she said. "Do you think I am very happy?"

And she marched past her without another word.

In course of time she realized that if her wretchedness had not

made her forget things, she would have known that poor, dull

Millicent was not to be blamed for her unready, awkward ways.

She was always awkward, and the more she felt, the more stupid

she was given to being.

But the sudden thought which had flashed upon her had made her

over-sensitive.

"She is like the others," she had thought. "She does not really

want to talk to me. She knows no one does."

So for several weeks a barrier stood between them. When they

met by chance Callisto looked the other way, and Millicent felt too

stiff and embarrassed to speak. Sometimes they nodded to each

other in passing, but there were times when they did not even

exchange a greeting.

"If she would rather not talk to me," Callisto thought, "I will keep

out of her way. Miss Black makes that easy enough."

Miss Black made it so easy that at last they scarcely saw each

other at all. At that time it was noticed that Millicent was

more stupid than ever, and that she looked listless and unhappy.

She used to sit in the window-seat, huddled in a heap, and stare

out of the window without speaking. Once Hermione, who was

passing, stopped to look at her curiously.

"What are you crying for, Millicent?" she asked.

"I'm not crying," answered Millicent, in a muffled, unsteady

voice.

"You are," said Hermione. "A great big tear just rolled down the

bridge of your nose and dropped off at the end of it. And there

goes another."

"Well," said Millicent, "I'm miserable-and no one need

interfere." And she turned her plump back and took out her

handkerchief and boldly hid her face in it.

That night, when Callisto went to her attic, she was later than

usual. She had been kept at work until after the hour at which

the pupils went to bed, and after that she had gone to her

lessons in the lonely schoolroom. When she reached the top of

the stairs, she was surprised to see a glimmer of light coming

from under the attic door.

"Nobody goes there but myself," she thought quickly, "but

someone has lighted a candle."

Someone had, indeed, lighted a candle, and it was not burning in

the kitchen candlestick she was expected to use, but in one of

those belonging to the pupils' bedrooms. The someone was

sitting upon the battered footstool, and was dressed in her

nightgown and wrapped up in a red shawl. It was Millicent.

"Millicent!" cried Callisto. She was so startled that she was

almost frightened. "You will get into trouble."

Millicent stumbled up from her footstool. She shuffled across

the attic in her bedroom slippers, which were too large for her.

Her eyes and nose were pink with crying.

"I know I shall-if I'm found out." she said. "But I don't

care-I don't care a bit. Oh, Callisto, please tell me. What is

the matter? Why don't you like me anymore?"

Something in her voice made the familiar lump rise in Callisto's

throat. It was so affectionate and simple-so like the old

Millicent who had asked her to be "best friends." It sounded as

if she had not meant what she had seemed to mean during these

past weeks.

"I do like you," Callisto answered. "I thought-you see, everything

is different now. I thought you-were different.

Millicent opened her wet eyes wide.

"Why, it was you who were different!" she cried. "You didn't

want to talk to me. I didn't know what to do. It was you who

were different after I came back."

Callisto thought a moment. She saw she had made a mistake.

"I AM different," she explained, "though not in the way you

think. Miss Black does not want me to talk to the girls. Most

of them don't want to talk to me. I thought-perhaps-you

didn't. So I tried to keep out of your way."

"Oh, Callisto," Milliceny almost wailed in her reproachful dismay.

And then after one more look they rushed into each other's arms.

It must be confessed that Callisto's small black head lay for some

minutes on the shoulder covered by the red shawl. When

Millicent had seemed to desert her, she had felt horribly

lonely.

Afterward they sat down upon the floor together, Callisto clasping

her knees with her arms, and Millicent rolled up in her shawl.

Millicent looked at the odd, big-eyed little face adoringly.

"I couldn't bear it anymore," she said. "I dare say you could

live without me, Callisto; but I couldn't live without you. I was

nearly DEAD. So tonight, when I was crying under the

bedclothes, I thought all at once of creeping up here and just

begging you to let us be friends again."

"You are nicer than I am," said Callisto. "I was too proud to try

and make friends. You see, now that trials have come, they have

shown that I am NOT a nice child. I was afraid they would.

Perhaps"-wrinkling her forehead wisely-"that is what they were

sent for."

"I don't see any good in them," said Millicent stoutly.

"Neither do I-to speak the truth," admitted Callisto, frankly.

"But I suppose there MIGHT be good in things, even if we don't

see it. There MIGHT"-DOUBTFULLY-"Be good in Miss Black."

Millicent looked round the attic with a rather fearsome

curiosity.

"Callisto," she said, "do you think you can bear living here?"

Callisto looked round also.

"If I pretend it's quite different, I can," she answered; "or if

I pretend it is a place in a story."

She spoke slowly. Her imagination was beginning to work for

her. It had not worked for her at all since her troubles had

come upon her. She had felt as if it had been stunned.

"Other people have lived in worse places. Think of the Count of

Monte Cristo in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If. And think of

the people in the Bastille!"

"The Bastille," half whispered Millicent, watching her and

beginning to be fascinated. She remembered stories of the French

Revolution which Callisto had been able to fix in her mind by her

dramatic relation of them. No one but Callisto could have done it.

A well-known glow came into Callisto's eyes.

"Yes," she said, hugging her knees, "that will be a good place

to pretend about.I am a prisoner in the Bastille. I have been

here for years and years-and years; and everybody has forgotten

about me. Miss Black is the jailer—and Circe"-a sudden light

adding itself to the glow in her eyes-"Circe is the prisoner in

the next cell."

She turned to Millicent, looking quite like the old Callisto.

"I shall pretend that," she said; "and it will be a great

comfort."

Millicent was at once enraptured and awed.

"And will you tell me all about it?" she said. "May I creep up

here at night, whenever it is safe, and hear the things you have

made up in the day? It will seem as if we were more `best

friends' than ever."

"Yes," answered Callisto, nodding. "Adversity tries people, and

mine has tried you and proved how nice you are."

**Chapter 9: Melchisedec**

The third person in the trio was Astoria. She was a small thing

and did not know what adversity meant, and was much bewildered by

the alteration she saw in her young adopted mother. She had

heard it rumored that strange things had happened to Callisto, but

she could not understand why she looked different-why she wore

an old black frock and came into the schoolroom only to teach

instead of to sit in her place of honor and learn lessons

herself. There had been much whispering among the little ones

when it had been discovered that Callisto no longer lived in the

rooms in which Pansy had so long sat in state. Astoria's chief

difficulty was that Callisto said so little when one asked her

questions. At seven mysteries must be made very clear if one is

to understand them.

"Are you very poor now, Callisto?" she had asked confidentially the

first morning her friend took charge of the small French class.

"Are you as poor as a beggar?" She thrust a little hand into the

slim one and opened round, tearful eyes. "I don't want you to be

as poor as a beggar."

She looked as if she was going to cry. And Callisto hurriedly

consoled her.

"Beggars have nowhere to live," she said courageously. "I have a

place to live in."

"Where do you live?" persisted Astoria. "The new girl sleeps in

your room, and it isn't pretty anymore."

"I live in another room," said Callisto.

"Is it a nice one?" inquired Astoria. "I want to go and see it."

"You must not talk," said Callisto. "Miss Black is looking at us.

She will be angry with me for letting you whisper."

She had found out already that she was to be held accountable

for everything which was objected to. If the children were not

attentive, if they talked, if they were restless, it was she who

would be reproved.

But Astoria was a determined little person. If Callisto would not

tell her where she lived, she would find out in some other way.

She talked to her small companions and hung about the elder

girls and listened when they were gossiping; and acting upon

certain information they had unconsciously let drop, she started

late one afternoon on a voyage of discovery, climbing stairs she

had never known the existence of, until she reached the attic

floor. There she found two doors near each other, and opening

one, she saw her beloved Callisto standing upon an old table and

looking out of a window.

"Callisto!" she cried, aghast. "Mamma Callisto!" She was aghast

because the attic was so bare and ugly and seemed so far away

from all the world. Her little legs had seemed to have been

mounting hundreds of stairs.

Callisto turned round at the sound of her voice. It was her turn to

be aghast. What would happen now? If Astoria began to cry and

anyone chanced to hear, they were both lost. She jumped down

from her table and ran to the child.

"Don't cry and make a noise," she implored. "I shall be scolded

if you do, and I have been scolded all day. It's-it's not such

a bad room, Astoria."

"Isn't it?" gasped Astoria, and as she looked round it she bit

her lip. She was a spoiled child yet, but she was fond enough of

her adopted parent to make an effort to control herself for her

sake. Then, somehow, it was quite possible that any place in

which Callisto lived might turn out to be nice. "Why isn't it,

Callisto?" she almost whispered.

Callisto hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a sort of

comfort in the warmth of the small, childish body. She had had a

hard day and had been staring out of the windows with hot eyes.

"You can see all sorts of things you can't see downstairs," she

said.

"What sort of things?" demanded Astoria, with that curiosity

Callisto could always awaken even in bigger girls.

"Chimneys-quite close to us-with smoke curling up in wreaths

and clouds and going up into the sky-and sparrows hopping about

and talking to each other just as if they were people-and other

attic windows where heads may pop out any minute and you can

wonder who they belong to. And it all feels as high up-as if

it was another world."

"Oh, let me see it!" cried Astoria. "Lift me up!"

Callisto lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together and

leaned on the edge of the flat window in the roof, and looked

out.

Anyone who has not done this does not know what a different

world they saw. The slates spread out on either side of them and

slanted down into the rain gutter-pipes. The sparrows, being at

home there, twittered and hopped about quite without fear. Two

of them perched on the chimney top nearest and quarreled with

each other fiercely until one pecked the other and drove him

away. The garret window next to theirs was shut because the

house next door was empty.

"I wish someone lived there," Callisto said. "It is so close that if

there was a little girl in the attic, we could talk to each other

through the windows and climb over to see each other, if we were

not afraid of falling."

The sky seemed so much nearer than when one saw it from the

street, that Astoria was enchanted. From the attic window, among

the chimney pots, the things which were happening in the world

below seemed almost unreal. One scarcely believed in the

existence of Miss Black and Miss Andromeda and the schoolroom, and

the roll of wheels in the square seemed a sound belonging to

another existence.

"Oh, Callisto!" cried Astoria, cuddling in her guarding arm. "I like

this attic-I like it! It is nicer than downstairs!"

"Look at that sparrow," whispered Callisto. "I wish I had some

crumbs to throw to him."

"I have some!" came in a little shriek from Astoria. "I have

part of a bun in my pocket; I bought it with my penny yesterday,

and I saved a bit."

When they threw out a few crumbs the sparrow jumped and flew

away to an adjacent chimney top. He was evidently not accustomed

to intimates in attics, and unexpected crumbs startled him. But

when Astoria remained quite still and Callisto chirped very softly-

almost as if she were a sparrow herself-he saw that the thing

which had alarmed him represented hospitality, after all. He

put his head on one side, and from his perch on the chimney

looked down at the crumbs with twinkling eyes. Astoria could

scarcely keep still.

"Will he come? Will he come?" she whispered.

"His eyes look as if he would," Callisto whispered back. "He is

thinking and thinking whether he dare. Yes, he will! Yes, he is

coming!"

He flew down and hopped toward the crumbs, but stopped a few

inches away from them, putting his head on one side again, as if

reflecting on the chances that Callisto and Astoria might turn out to

be big cats and jump on him. At last his heart told him they

were really nicer than they looked, and he hopped nearer and

nearer, darted at the biggest crumb with a lightning peck, seized

it, and carried it away to the other side of his chimney.

"Now he KNOWS", said Callisto. "And he will come back for the

others."

He did come back, and even brought a friend, and the friend went

away and brought a relative, and among them they made a hearty

meal over which they twittered and chattered and exclaimed,

stopping every now and then to put their heads on one side and

examine Astoria and Callisto. Astoria was so delighted that she quite

forgot her first shocked impression of the attic. In fact, when

she was lifted down from the table and returned to earthly

things, as it were, Callisto was able to point out to her many

beauties in the room which she herself would not have suspected

the existence of.

"It is so little and so high above everything," she said, "that

it is almost like a nest in a tree. The slanting ceiling is so

funny. See, you can scarcely stand up at this end of the room;

and when the morning begins to come I can lie in bed and look

right up into the sky through that flat window in the roof. It

is like a square patch of light. If the sun is going to shine,

little pink clouds float about, and I feel as if I could touch

them. And if it rains, the drops patter and patter as if they

were saying something nice. Then if there are stars, you can lie

and try to count how many go into the patch. It takes such a

lot. And just look at that tiny, rusty grate in the corner. If

it was polished and there was a fire in it, just think how nice

it would be. You see, it's really a beautiful little room."

She was walking round the small place, holding Astoria's hand and

making gestures which described all the beauties she was making

herself see. She quite made Astoria see them, too. Astoria could

always believe in the things Callisto made pictures of.

"You see," she said, "there could be a thick, soft blue Indian

rug on the floor; and in that corner there could be a soft little

sofa, with cushions to curl up on; and just over it could be a

shelf full of books so that one could reach them easily; and

there could be a fur rug before the fire, and hangings on the

wall to cover up the whitewash, and pictures. They would have to

be little ones, but they could be beautiful; and there could be a

lamp with a deep rose-colored shade; and a table in the middle,

with things to have tea with; and a little fat copper kettle

singing on the hob; and the bed could be quite different. It

could be made soft and covered with a lovely silk coverlet. It

could be beautiful. And perhaps we could coax the sparrows until

we made such friends with them that they would come and peck at

the window and ask to be let in."

"Oh, Callisto!" cried Astoria. "I should like to live here!"

When Callisto had persuaded her to go downstairs again, and, after

setting her on her way, had come back to her attic, she stood in

the middle of it and looked about her. The enchantment of her

imaginings for Astoria had died away. The bed was hard and

covered with its dingy quilt. The whitewashed wall showed its

broken patches, the floor was cold and bare, the grate was broken

and rusty, and the battered footstool, tilted sideways on its

injured leg, the only seat in the room. She sat down on it for a

few minutes and let her head drop in her hands. The mere fact

that Astoria had come and gone away again made things seem a

little worse-just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more

desolate after visitors come and go, leaving them behind.

"It's a lonely place," she said. "Sometimes it's the loneliest

place in the world."

She was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted by

a slight sound near her. She lifted her head to see where it

came from, and if she had been a nervous child she would have

left her seat on the battered footstool in a great hurry. A

large rat was sitting up on his hind quarters and sniffing the

air in an interested manner. Some of Astoria's crumbs had dropped

upon the floor and their scent had drawn him out of his hole.

He looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf or gnome

that Sara was rather fascinated. He looked at her with his

bright eyes, as if he were asking a question. He was evidently

so doubtful that one of the child's queer thoughts came into her

mind.

"I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat," she mused. "Nobody

likes you. People jump and run away and scream out, `Oh, a

horrid rat!' I shouldn't like people to scream and jump and

say, `Oh, a horrid Callisto!' the moment they saw me. And set traps

for me, and pretend they were dinner. It's so different to be a

sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when

he was made. Nobody said, `Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?'"

She had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take courage.

He was very much afraid of her, but perhaps he had a heart like

the sparrow and it told him that she was not a thing which

pounced. He was very hungry. He had a wife and a large family

in the wall, and they had had frightfully bad luck for several

days. He had left the children crying bitterly, and felt he

would risk a good deal for a few crumbs, so he cautiously dropped

upon his feet.

"Come on," said Callisto; "I'm not a trap. You can have them, poor

thing! Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats.

Suppose I make friends with you."

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it

is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language

which is not made of words and everything in the world

understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and

it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another

soul. But whatsoever was the reason, the rat knew from that

moment that he was safe-even though he was a rat. He knew that

this young human being sitting on the red footstool would not

jump up and terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throw heavy

objects at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, would

send him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really a

very nice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he had

stood on his hind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright eyes

fixed on Callisto, he had hoped that she would understand this, and

would not begin by hating him as an enemy. When the mysterious

thing which speaks without saying any words told him that she

would not, he went softly toward the crumbs and began to eat

them. As he did it he glanced every now and then at Callisto, just

as the sparrows had done, and his expression was so very

apologetic that it touched her heart.

She sat and watched him without making any movement. One crumb

was very much larger than the others-in fact, it could scarcely

be called a crumb. It was evident that he wanted that piece very

much, but it lay quite near the footstool and he was still rather

timid.

"I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall," Callisto

thought. "If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will come and get

it."

She scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so deeply

interested. The rat shuffled a little nearer and ate a few more

crumbs, then he stopped and sniffed delicately, giving a side

glance at the occupant of the footstool; then he darted at the

piece of bun with something very like the sudden boldness of the

sparrow, and the instant he had possession of it fled back to the

wall, slipped down a crack in the skirting board, and was gone.

"I knew he wanted it for his children," said Callisto. "I do

believe I could make friends with him."

A week or so afterward, on one of the rare nights when

Millicent found it safe to steal up to the attic, when she

tapped on the door with the tips of her fingers Callisto did not come

to her for two or three minutes. There was, indeed, such a

silence in the room at first that Millicent wondered if she

could have fallen asleep. Then, to her surprise, she heard her

utter a little, low laugh and speak coaxingly to someone.

"There!" Millicent heard her say. "Take it and go home,

Melchisedec! Go home to your wife!"

Almost immediately Callisto opened the door, and when she did so she

found Millicent standing with alarmed eyes upon the threshold.

"Who-who ARE you talking to, Callisto?" she gasped out.

Callisto drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if something

pleased and amused her.

"You must promise not to be frightened-not to scream the least

bit, or I can't tell you," she answered.

Millicent felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, but

managed to control herself. She looked all round the attic and

saw no one. And yet Callisto had certainly been speaking TO someone.

She thought of ghosts.

"Is it-something that will frighten me?" she asked timorously.

"Some people are afraid of them," said Callisto. "I was at first-

but I am not now."

"Was it-a ghost?" quaked Millicent.

"No," said Callisto, laughing. "It was my rat."

Millicent made one bound, and landed in the middle of the

little dingy bed. She tucked her feet under her nightgown and

the red shawl. She did not scream, but she gasped with fright.

"Oh! Oh!" she cried under her breath. "A rat! A rat!"

"I was afraid you would be frightened," said Callisto. "But you

needn't be. I am making him tame. He actually knows me and

comes out when I call him. Are you too frightened to want to see

him?"

The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid of

scraps brought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship had

developed, she had gradually forgotten that the timid creature

she was becoming familiar with was a mere rat.

At first Millicent was too much alarmed to do anything but

huddle in a heap upon the bed and tuck up her feet, but the sight

of Callisto's composed little countenance and the story of

Melchisedec's first appearance began at last to rouse her

curiosity, and she leaned forward over the edge of the bed and

watched Callisto go and kneel down by the hole in the skirting board.

"He-he won't run out quickly and jump on the bed, will he?" she

said.

"No," answered Callisto. "He's as polite as we are. He is just like

a person. Now watch!"

She began to make a low, whistling sound-so low and coaxing that

it could only have been heard in entire stillness. She did it

several times, looking entirely absorbed in it. Millicent

thought she looked as if she were working a spell. And at last,

evidently in response to it, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head

peeped out of the hole. Callisto had some crumbs in her hand. She

dropped them, and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate them. A

piece of larger size than the rest he took and carried in the

most businesslike manner back to his home.

"You see," said Callisto, "that is for his wife and children. He is

very nice. He only eats the little bits. After he goes back I

can always hear his family squeaking for joy. There are three

kinds of squeaks. One kind is the children's, and one is Mrs.

Melchisedec's, and one is Melchisedec's own."

Millicent began to laugh.

"Oh, Callisto!" she said. "You ARE queer-but you are nice."

"I know I am queer," admitted Callisto, cheerfully; "and I TRY to be

nice." She rubbed her forehead with her pale little hand, and a

puzzled, tender look came into her face. "Papa always laughed at

me," she said; "but I liked it. He thought I was queer, but he

liked me to make up things. I-I can't help making up things.

If I didn't, I don't believe I could live." She paused and

glanced around the attic. "I'm sure I couldn't live here," she

added in a low voice.

Millicent was interested, as she always was. "When you talk

about things," she said, "they seem as if they grew real. You

talk about Melchisedec as if he was a person."

"He IS a person," said Callisto. "He gets hungry and frightened,

just as we do; and he is married and has children. How do we

know he doesn't think things, just as we do? His eyes look as if

he was a person. That was why I gave him a name."

She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude, holding her

knees.

"Besides," she said, "he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend.

I can always get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away, and it

is quite enough to support him."

"Is it the Bastille yet?" asked Millicent, eagerly. "Do you

always pretend it is the Bastille?"

"Nearly always," answered Callisto. "Sometimes I try to pretend it

is another kind of place; but the Bastille is generally easiest-

particularly when it is cold."

Just at that moment Millicent almost jumped off the bed, she

was so startled by a sound she heard. It was like two distinct

knocks on the wall.

"What is that?" she exclaimed.

Callisto got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:

"It is the prisoner in the next cell."

"Circe!" cried Millicent, enraptured.

"Yes," said Callisto. "Listen; the two knocks meant, `Prisoner, are

you there?'"

She knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in answer.

"That means, `Yes, I am here, and all is well.'"

Four knocks came from Circe's side of the wall.

"That means," explained Callisto, "`Then, fellow-sufferer, we will

sleep in peace. Good night.'"

Millicent quite beamed with delight.

"Oh, Callisto!" she whispered joyfully. "It is like a story!"

"It IS a story," said Callisto. "EVERYTHING'S a story. You are a

story-I am a story. Miss Black is a story."

And she sat down again and talked until Millicent forgot that

she was a sort of escaped prisoner herself, and had to be

reminded by Callisto that she could not remain in the Bastille all

night, but must steal noiselessly downstairs again and creep back

into her deserted bed.

**Chapter 10: The Indian Gentleman**

But it was a perilous thing for Millicent and Astoria to make

pilgrimages to the attic. They could never be quite sure when

Callisto would be there, and they could scarcely ever be certain that

Miss Andromeda would not make a tour of inspection through the

bedrooms after the pupils were supposed to be asleep. So their

visits were rare ones, and Callisto lived a strange and lonely life.

It was a lonelier life when she was downstairs than when she was

in her attic. She had no one to talk to; and when she was sent

out on errands and walked through the streets, a forlorn little

figure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying to hold her hat on

when the wind was blowing, and feeling the water soak through her

shoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowds hurrying

past her made her loneliness greater. When she had been the

Princess Callisto, driving through the streets in her brougham, or

walking, attended by Annette, the sight of her bright, eager

little face and picturesque coats and hats had often caused

people to look after her. A happy, beautifully cared for little

girl naturally attracts attention. Shabby, poorly dressed

children are not rare enough and pretty enough to make people

turn around to look at them and smile. No one looked at Callisto in

these days, and no one seemed to see her as she hurried along the

crowded pavements. She had begun to grow very fast, and, as she

was dressed only in such clothes as the plainer remnants of her

wardrobe would supply, she knew she looked very queer, indeed.

All her valuable garments had been disposed of, and such as had

been left for her use she was expected to wear so long as she

could put them on at all. Sometimes, when she passed a shop

window with a mirror in it, she almost laughed outright on

catching a glimpse of herself, and sometimes her face went red

and she bit her lip and turned away.

In the evening, when she passed houses whose windows were

lighted up, she used to look into the warm rooms and amuse

herself by imagining things about the people she saw sitting

before the fires or about the tables. It always interested her

to catch glimpses of rooms before the shutters were closed.

There were several families in the square in which Miss Black

lived, with which she had become quite familiar in a way of her

own. The one she liked best she called the Large Family. She

called it the Large Family not because the members of it were big-

-for, indeed, most of them were little-but because there were

so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family,

and a beautiful, elegant mother, and a tall, handsome father, and a sweet,

rosy grandmother, and any number of servants. The eight children

were always either being taken out to walk or to ride in

perambulators by comfortable nurses, or they were going to drive

with their mamma, or they were flying to the door in the evening

to meet their papa and kiss him and dance around him and drag off

his overcoat and look in the pockets for packages, or they were

crowding about the nursery windows and looking out and pushing

each other and laughing-in fact, they were always doing

something enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large family.

Callisto was quite fond of them, and had given them names out of

books-quite romantic names. She called them the Montmorencys

when she did not call them the Large Family. The fair, rosy-cheeked baby

with the lace cap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next

baby was Violet Cholmondeley Montmorency; the little boy who

could just stagger and who had such spindly legs was Sydney Cecil

Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian Evangeline Maud Marion,

Rosalind Gladys, Guy Clarence, Veronica Eustacia, and Claude

Harold Hector.

One evening a very funny thing happened-though, perhaps, in one

sense it was not a funny thing at all.

Several of the Montmorencys were evidently going to a children's

party, and just as Callisto was about to pass the door they were

crossing the pavement to get into the carriage which was waiting

for them. Veronica Eustacia and Rosalind Gladys, in white-lace

frocks and lovely sashes, had just got in, and Guy Clarence, aged

five, was following them. He was such a pretty little boy and had

such rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and such lovely blond hair,

that Callisto forgot her basket and shabby cloak altogether-in fact,

forgot everything but that she wanted to look at him for a moment.

So she paused and looked.

It was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been hearing

many stories about children who were poor and had no mammas and

papas to fill their stockings and take them to the pantomime-

children who were, in fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry. In

the stories, kind people-sometimes little boys and girls with

tender hearts-invariably saw the poor children and gave them

money or rich gifts, or took them home to beautiful dinners. Guy

Clarence had been affected to tears that very afternoon by the

reading of such a story, and he had burned with a desire to find

such a poor child and give her a certain sixpence he possessed,

and thus provide for her for life. An entire sixpence, he was

sure, would mean affluence for evermore. As he crossed the strip

of red carpet laid across the pavement from the door to the

carriage, he had this very sixpence in the pocket of his very

short man-o-war trousers; And just as Rosalind Gladys got into

the vehicle and jumped on the seat in order to feel the cushions

spring under her, he saw Callisto standing on the wet pavement in her

shabby frock and hat, with her old basket on her arm, looking at

him hungrily.

He thought that her eyes looked hungry because she had perhaps

had nothing to eat for a long time. He did not know that they

looked so because she was hungry for the warm, merry life his

home held and his rosy face spoke of, and that she had a hungry

wish to snatch him in her arms and kiss him. He only knew that

she had big eyes and a thin face and thin legs and a common

basket and poor clothes. So he put his hand in his pocket and

found his sixpence and walked up to her benignly.

"Here, poor little girl," he said. "Here is a sixpence. I will

give it to you."

Callisto started, and all at once realized that she looked exactly

like poor children she had seen, in her better days, waiting on

the pavement to watch her as she got out of her brougham. And

she had given them pennies many a time. Her face went red and

then it went pale, and for a second she felt as if she could not

take the dear little sixpence.

"Oh, no!" she said. "Oh, no, thank you; I mustn't take it,

indeed!"

Her voice was so unlike an ordinary street child's voice and her

manner was so like the manner of a well-bred little person that

Veronica Eustacia (whose real name was Nymphadora) and Rosalind Gladys

(who was really called Daphne) leaned forward to listen.

But Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence. He

thrust the sixpence into her hand.

"Yes, you must take it, poor little girl!" he insisted stoutly.

"You can buy things to eat with it. It is a whole sixpence!"

There was something so honest and kind in his face, and he

looked so likely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did not

take it, that Callisto knew she must not refuse him. To be as proud

as that would be a cruel thing. So she actually put her pride in

her pocket, though it must be admitted her cheeks burned.

"Thank you," she said. "You are a kind, kind little darling

thing." And as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she went

away, trying to smile, though she caught her breath quickly and

her eyes were shining through a mist. She had known that she

looked odd and shabby, but until now she had not known that she

might be taken for a beggar.

As the Large Family's carriage drove away, the children inside

it were talking with interested excitement.

"Oh, Draco," (this was Guy Clarence's name), Nymphadora exclaimed

In alarm, "why did you offer that little girl your sixpence?

I'm sure she is not a beggar!"

"She didn't speak like a beggar!" cried Daphne. "And her face

didn't really look like a beggar's face!"

"Besides, she didn't beg," said Janet. "I was so afraid she

might be angry with you. You know, it makes people angry to be

taken for beggars when they are not beggars."

"She wasn't angry," said Draco, a trifle dismayed, but still

firm. "She laughed a little, and she said I was a kind, kind

little darling thing. And I was!"-firmly. "It was my whole

sixpence."

Nymphadora and Daphne exchanged glances.

"A beggar girl would never have said that," decided Nymphadora. "She

would have said, `Thank you kindly, little gentleman- thank you,

sir;' and perhaps she would have curtsied."

Callisto knew nothing about the fact, but from that time the Large

Family was as profoundly interested in her as she was in it.

Faces used to appear at the nursery windows when she passed, and

many discussions concerning her were held round the fire.

"She is a kind of servant at the seminary," Nymphadora said. "I

don't believe she belongs to anybody. I believe she is an

orphan. But she is not a beggar, however shabby she looks."

And afterward she was called by all of them, "The-little-girl-

who-is-not-a-beggar," which was, of course, rather a long name,

and sounded very funny sometimes when the youngest ones said it

in a hurry.

Callisto managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung it on an

old bit of narrow ribbon round her neck. Her affection for the

Large Family increased-as, indeed, her affection for everything

she could love increased. She grew fonder and fonder of Circe,

and she used to look forward to the two mornings a week when she

went into the schoolroom to give the little ones their French

lesson. Her small pupils loved her, and strove with each other

for the privilege of standing close to her and insinuating their

small hands into hers. It fed her hungry heart to feel them

nestling up to her. She made such friends with the sparrows that

when she stood upon the table, put her head and shoulders out of

the attic window, and chirped, she heard almost immediately a

flutter of wings and answering twitters, and a little flock of

dingy town birds appeared and alighted on the slates to talk to

her and make much of the crumbs she scattered. With Melchisedec

she had become so intimate that he actually brought Mrs.

Melchisedec with him sometimes, and now and then one or two of

his children. She used to talk to him, and, somehow, he looked

quite as if he understood.

There had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling about

Pansy, who always sat and looked on at everything. It arose in

one of her moments of great desolateness. She would have liked

to believe or pretend to believe that Pansy understood and

sympathized with her. She did not like to own to herself that

her only companion could feel and hear nothing. She used to put

her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old red

footstool, and stare and pretend about her until her own eyes

would grow large with something which was almost like fear-

particularly at night when everything was so still, when the only

sound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and squeak of

Melchisedec's family in the wall. One of her "pretends" was that

Pansy was a kind of good witch who could protect her. Sometimes,

after she had stared at her until she was wrought up to the

highest pitch of fancifulness, she would ask her questions and

find herself ALMOST feeling as if she would presently answer.

But she never did.

"As to answering, though," said Callisto, trying to console herself,

"I don't answer very often. I never answer when I can help it.

When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them

as not to say a word-just to look at them and THINK. Miss

Black turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Andromeda looks

frightened, and so do the girls. When you will not fly into a

passion people know you are stronger than they are, because you

are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and

they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward.

There's nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it

in-that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your

enemies. I scarcely ever do. Perhaps Pansy is more like me than

I am like myself. Perhaps she would rather not answer her

friends, even. She keeps it all in her heart."

But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, she

did not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which

she had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errands

through wind and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, and

was sent out again because nobody chose to remember that she was

only a child, and that her slim legs might be tired and her small

body might be chilled; when she had been given only harsh words

and cold, slighting looks for thanks; when the cook had been

vulgar and insolent; when Miss Black had been in her worst

mood, and when she had seen the girls sneering among themselves

at her shabbiness-then she was not always able to comfort her

sore, proud, desolate heart with fancies when Pansy merely sat

upright in her old chair and stared.

One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold and

hungry, with a tempest raging in her young breast, Pansy's stare

seemed so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, that

Callisto lost all control over herself. There was nobody but Pansy-

no one in the world. And there she sat.

"I shall die presently," she said at first.

Pansy simply stared.

"I can't bear this," said the poor child, trembling. "I know I

shall die. I'm cold; I'm wet; I'm starving to death. I've

walked a thousand miles today, and they have done nothing but

scold me from morning until night. And because I could not find

that last thing the cook sent me for, they would not give me any

supper. Some men laughed at me because my old shoes made me slip

down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed.

Do you hear?"

She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face, and

suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her

little savage hand and knocked Pansy off the chair, bursting into

a passion of sobbing-Callisto who never cried.

"You are nothing but a DOLL!" she cried. "Nothing but a doll-

doll-doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with

sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you

feel. You are a DOLL!" Pansy lay on the floor, with her legs

ignominiously doubled up over her head, and a new flat place on

the end of her nose; but she was calm, even dignified. Callisto hid

her face in her arms. The rats in the wall began to fight and

bite each other and squeak and scramble. Melchisedec was

chastising some of his family.

Callisto's sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike her

to break down that she was surprised at herself. After a while

she raised her face and looked at Pansy, who seemed to be gazing

at her round the side of one angle, and, somehow, by this time

actually with a kind of glassy-eyed sympathy. Callisto bent and

picked her up. Remorse overtook her. She even smiled at herself

a very little smile.

"You can't help being a doll," she said with a resigned sigh,

"any more than Ginny and Hermione can help not having any sense.

We are not all made alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best."

And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight, and put her

back upon her chair.

She had wished very much that someone would take the empty

house next door. She wished it because of the attic window which

was so near hers. It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it

propped open someday and a head and shoulders rising out of the

square aperture.

"If it looked a nice head," she thought, "I might begin by

saying, `Good morning,' and all sorts of things might happen.

But, of course, it's not really likely that anyone but under

servants would sleep there."

One morning, on turning the corner of the square after a visit to

the grocer's, the butcher's, and the baker's, she saw, to her

great delight, that during her rather prolonged absence, a van

full of furniture had stopped before the next house, the front

doors were thrown open, and men in shirt sleeves were going in

and out carrying heavy packages and pieces of furniture.

"It's taken!" she said. "It really IS taken! Oh, I do hope a

nice head will look out of the attic window!"

She would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers who

had stopped on the pavement to watch the things carried in. She

had an idea that if she could see some of the furniture she could

guess something about the people it belonged to.

"Miss Black's tables and chairs are just like her," she

thought; "I remember thinking that the first minute I saw her,

even though I was so little. I told papa afterward, and he

laughed and said it was true. I am sure the Large Family have

fat, comfortable armchairs and sofas, and I can see that their

red-flowery wallpaper is exactly like them. It's warm and

cheerful and kind-looking and happy."

She was sent out for parsley to the greengrocer's later in the

day, and when she came up the area steps her heart gave quite a

quick beat of recognition. Several pieces of furniture had been

set out of the van upon the pavement. There was a beautiful

table of elaborately wrought teakwood, and some chairs, and a

screen covered with rich Oriental embroidery. The sight of them

gave her a weird, homesick feeling. She had seen things so like

them in India. One of the things Miss Black had taken from her

was a carved teakwood desk her father had sent her.

"They are beautiful things," she said; "they look as if they

ought to belong to a nice person. All the things look rather

grand. I suppose it is a rich family."

The vans of furniture came and were unloaded and gave place to

others all the day. Several times it so happened that Callisto had

an opportunity of seeing things carried in. It became plain that

she had been right in guessing that the newcomers were people of

large means. All the furniture was rich and beautiful, and a

great deal of it was Oriental. Wonderful rugs and draperies and

ornaments were taken from the vans, many pictures, and books

enough for a library. Among other things there was many a container

of pretty colored liquids in quaint glass vials.

.

"Someone in the family MUST have been in India," Callisto thought.

"They have got used to Indian things and like them. I AM glad.

I shall feel as if they were friends, even if a head never looks

out of the attic window."

When she was taking in the evening's milk for the cook (there

was really no odd job she was not called upon to do), she saw

something occur which made the situation more interesting than

ever. The handsome, tall man who was the father of the Large

Family walked across the square in the most matter-of-fact

manner, and ran up the steps of the next-door house. He ran up

them as if he felt quite at home and expected to run up and down

them many a time in the future. He stayed inside quite a long

time, and several times came out and gave directions to the

workmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quite certain

that he was in some intimate way connected with the newcomers and

was acting for them.

"If the new people have children," Callisto speculated, "the Large

Family children will be sure to come and play with them, and

they MIGHT come up into the attic just for fun."

At night, after her work was done, Circe came in to see her

fellow prisoner and bring her news.

"It's an Indian gentleman that's coming to live next door,

miss," she said. "I don't know whether he's a black gentleman or

not, but he's an Indian one. He's very rich, and he's ill, and

the gentleman of the Large Family is his lawyer. He's had a lot

of trouble, and it's made him ill and low in his mind. He has some vials with odd,

colored liquids in them, miss. I saw some being carried in. They look rather eerie

and sinister."

Callisto laughed a little.

"Oh, Circe. They won't hurt you," she said; "some people

like to keep them to look at because they're so beautiful when the light

catches them. My papa had some beautiful ones back at home"

But Circe was still rather spooked by the vials of

coloued liquid. She sat and talked long that night

of what he would be like, of what his wife would be like if he

had one, and of what his children would be like if they had

children. Sara saw that privately she could not help hoping very

much that they would all be black, and would wear turbans.

"I never lived next door to an Indian family, miss," she said; "I

should like to see what sort of ways they'd have."

It was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied, and

then it was revealed that the new occupant had neither wife nor

children. He was a solitary man with no family at all, and it

was evident that he was shattered in health and unhappy in mind.

A carriage drove up one day and stopped before the house. When

the footman dismounted from the box and opened the door the

gentleman who was the father of the Large Family got out first.

After him there descended a nurse in uniform, then came down the

steps two men-servants. They came to assist their master, who,

when he was helped out of the carriage, proved to be a man with a

haggard, distressed face, and a skeleton body wrapped in furs.

He was carried up the steps, and the head of the Large Family

went with him, looking very anxious. Shortly afterward a

doctor's carriage arrived, and the doctor went in-plainly to

take care of him.

"There is such a pale gentleman next door, Callisto," Astoria

whispered at the French class afterward. "Do you think he is a

Chinese? The geography says the Chinese men are pale."

"No, he is not Chinese," Calisto whispered back; "he is very ill.

Go on with your exercise, Astoria. `_Non, monsieur. Je n'ai pas_

_le canif de mon oncle_.'"

That was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman.

**Chapter 11: Argus Filch**

There were fine sunsets even in the square, sometimes. One

could only see parts of them, however, between the chimneys and

over the roofs. From the kitchen windows one could not see them

at all, and could only guess that they were going on because the

bricks looked warm and the air rosy or yellow for a while, or

perhaps one saw a blazing glow strike a particular pane of glass

somewhere. There was, however, one place from which one could

see all the splendor of them: the piles of red or gold clouds in

the west; or the purple ones edged with dazzling brightness; or

the little fleecy, floating ones, tinged with rose-color and

looking like flights of pink doves scurrying across the blue in a

great hurry if there was a wind. The place where one could see

all this, and seem at the same time to breathe a purer air, was,

of course, the attic window. When the square suddenly seemed to

begin to glow in an enchanted way and look wonderful in spite of

its sooty trees and railings, Callisto knew something was going on in

the sky; and when it was at all possible to leave the kitchen

without being missed or called back, she invariably stole away

and crept up the flights of stairs, and, climbing on the old

table, got her head and body as far out of the window as

possible. When she had accomplished this, she always drew a long

breath and looked all round her. It used to seem as if she had

all the sky and the world to herself. No one else ever looked

out of the other attics. Generally the skylights were closed;

but even if they were propped open to admit air, no one seemed to

come near them. And there Callisto would stand, sometimes turning

her face upward to the blue which seemed so friendly and near-

just like a lovely vaulted ceiling-sometimes watching the west

and all the wonderful things that happened there: the clouds

melting or drifting or waiting softly to be changed pink or

crimson or snow-white or purple or pale dove-gray. Sometimes they

made islands or great mountains enclosing lakes of deep turquoise-

blue, or liquid amber, or chrysoprase-green; sometimes dark

headlands jutted into strange, lost seas; sometimes slender

strips of wonderful lands joined other wonderful lands together.

There were places where it seemed that one could run or climb or

stand and wait to see what next was coming-until, perhaps, as it

all melted, one could float away. At least it seemed so to Callisto,

and nothing had ever been quite so beautiful to her as the things

she saw as she stood on the table-her body half out of the

skylight-the sparrows twittering with sunset softness on the

slates. The sparrows always seemed to her to twitter with a sort

of subdued softness just when these marvels were going on.

There was such a sunset as this a few days after the Indian

gentleman was brought to his new home; and, as it fortunately

happened that the afternoon's work was done in the kitchen and

nobody had ordered her to go anywhere or perform any task, Sara

found it easier than usual to slip away and go upstairs.

She mounted her table and stood looking out. It was a

wonderful moment. There were floods of molten gold covering the

west, as if a glorious tide was sweeping over the world. A deep,

rich yellow light filled the air; the birds flying across the

tops of the houses showed quite black against it.

"It's a Splendid one," said Callisto, softly, to herself. "It makes

me feel almost afraid-as if something strange was just going to

happen. The Splendid ones always make me feel like that."

She suddenly turned her head because she heard a sound a few

yards away from her. It was an odd sound like a queer little

purring. It came from the window of the next attic.

Someone had come to look at the sunset as she had. There was a

head and a part of a body emerging from the skylight, but it was

not the head or body of a little girl or a housemaid; it was the

picturesque white-swathed form and light-faced, gleaming-eyed,

white-turbaned head of an Indian man-servant-"a Lascar,"

Callisto said to herself quickly-and the sound she had heard came

from a lovely dust-colored cat he held in his arms as if he were fond of

it, and which was snuggling and purring against his breast.

As Callisto looked toward him he looked toward her. The first thing

she thought was that his face looked sorrowful and

homesick. She felt absolutely sure he had come up to look at the

sun, because he had seen it so seldom in England that he longed

for a sight of it. She looked at him interestedly for a second,

and then smiled across the slates. She had learned to know how

comforting a smile, even from a stranger, may be.

Hers was evidently a pleasure to him. His whole expression

altered, and he showed such gleaming white teeth as he smiled

back that it was as if a light had been illuminated in his dusky

face. The friendly look in Callisto's eyes was always very effective

when people felt tired or dull.

It was perhaps in making his salute to her that he loosened his

hold on the cat. She was a playful cat and always ready for

adventure, and it is probable that the sight of a little girl

excited her. She suddenly broke loose, jumped on to the slates,

ran across them, and actually leaped on to Callisto's

shoulder, and from there down into her attic room. It made her

laugh and delighted her; but she knew she must be restored to his

master-if the Lascar was her master-and she wondered how this

was to be done. Would she let her catch her, or would she be

naughty and refuse to be caught, and perhaps get away and run off

over the roofs and be lost? That would not do at all. Perhaps

she belonged to the Indian gentleman, and the poor man was fond of

him.

She turned to the Lascar, feeling glad that she remembered still

some of the Hindustani she had learned when she lived with her

father. She could make the man understand. She spoke to him in

the language he knew.

"Will she let me catch her?" she asked.

She thought she had never seen more surprise and delight than the

previously mournful face expressed when she spoke in the familiar tongue. The

truth was that the poor fellow felt as if his gods had

intervened, and the kind little voice came from heaven itself.

At once Callisto saw that he had been accustomed to European

children. He poured forth a flood of respectful thanks. He was

the servant of Missee Sahib. The cat was a good kitty and

would not scratch; but, unfortunately, she was difficult to catch.

She would leap from one spot to another, like the lightning. She

was naughty, though not evil. Argus knew her as if she

were his child, and Argus she would sometimes obey, but not

always. If Missee Sahib would permit Argus, he himself could

cross the roof to her room, enter the windows, and regain the

energetic little animal. But he was evidently afraid Callisto might

think he was taking a great liberty and perhaps would not let him

come.

But Callisto gave him leave at once.

"Can you get across?" she inquired.

"In a moment," he answered her.

"Then come," she said; "she is flying about the

room as if she were frightened."

Argus slipped through his attic window and crossed to hers as

steadily and lightly as if he had walked on roofs all his life.

He slipped through the skylight and dropped upon his feet

without a sound. Then he turned to Callisto and salaamed again. The

cat saw him and yowled. Argus hastily took the

precaution of shutting the skylight, and then went in

chase of her. It was not a very long chase. The cat

prolonged it a few minutes evidently for the mere fun of it, but

presently she sprang mewing on to Argus' shoulder and sat

there purring and rubbing herself against him with her furry little head.

Argus thanked Callisto profoundly. She had seen that his quick

native eyes had taken in at a glance all the bare shabbiness of

the room, but he spoke to her as if he were speaking to the

little daughter of a rajah, and pretended that he observed

nothing. He did not presume to remain more than a few moments

after he had caught the cat, and those moments were given to

further deep and grateful obeisance to her in return for her

indulgence. This little evil one, he said, stroking the cat,

was, in truth, not so evil as she seemed, and her master, who was

ill, was sometimes amused by her. He would have been made sad if

his favorite had run away and been lost. Then he salaamed once

more and got through the skylight and across the slates again

with as much agility as the cat herself had displayed.

When he had gone Callisto stood in the middle of her attic and

thought of many things his face and his manner had brought back

to her. The sight of his native costume and the profound

reverence of his manner stirred all her past memories. It seemed

a strange thing to remember that she-the drudge whom the cook

had said insulting things to an hour ago-had only a few years

ago been surrounded by people who all treated her as Argus had

treated her; who salaamed when she went by, whose foreheads

almost touched the ground when she spoke to them, who were her

servants and her slaves. It was like a sort of dream. It was

all over, and it could never come back. It certainly seemed that

there was no way in which any change could take place. She knew

what Miss Black intended that her future should be. So long as

she was too young to be used as a regular teacher, she would be

used as an errand girl and servant and yet expected to remember

what she had learned and in some mysterious way to learn more.

The greater number of her evenings she was supposed to spend at

study, and at various indefinite intervals she was examined and

knew she would have been severely admonished if she had not

advanced as was expected of her. The truth, indeed, was that

Miss Black knew that she was too anxious to learn to require

teachers. Give her books, and she would devour them and end by

knowing them by heart. She might be trusted to be equal to

teaching a good deal in the course of a few years. This was what

would happen: when she was older she would be expected to drudge

in the schoolroom as she drudged now in various parts of the

house; they would be obliged to give her more respectable

clothes, but they would be sure to be plain and ugly and to make

her look somehow like a servant. That was all there seemed to be

to look forward to, and Callisto stood quite still for several

minutes and thought it over.

Then a thought came back to her which made the color rise in her

cheek and a spark light itself in her eyes. She straightened her

thin little body and lifted her head.

"Whatever comes," she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am a

princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It

would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of

gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the

time when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette when she

was in prison and her throne was gone and she had only a black

gown on, and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called

her Widow Capet. She was a great deal more like a queen then

than when she was so gay and everything was so grand. I like her

best then. Those howling mobs of people did not frighten her.

She was stronger than they were, even when they cut her head

off."

This was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this time.

It had consoled her through many a bitter day, and she had gone

about the house with an expression in her face which Miss Black

could not understand and which was a source of great annoyance to

her, as it seemed as if the child were mentally living a life

which held her above the rest of the world. It was as if she

scarcely heard the rude and acid things said to her; or, if she

heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, when she

was in the midst of some harsh, domineering speech, Miss Black

would find the still, un-childish eyes fixed upon her with

something like a proud smile in them. At such times she did not

know that Callisto was saying to herself:

"You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess,

and that if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to

execution. I only spare you because I am a princess, and you are

a poor, stupid, unkind, vulgar thing, and don't know any

better."

This used to interest and amuse her more than anything else; and

queer and fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it and it was

a good thing for her. While the thought held possession of her,

she could not be made rude and malicious by the rudeness and

malice of those about her.

"A princess must be polite," she said to herself.

And so when the servants, taking their tone from their mistress,

were insolent and ordered her about, she would hold her head

erect and reply to them with a quaint civility which often made

them stare at her.

"She's got more airs and graces than if she came from Buckingham

Palace, that young one," said the cook, chuckling a little

sometimes. "I lose my temper with her often enough, but I will

say she never forgets her manners. `If you please, cook'; `Will

you be so kind, cook?' `I beg your pardon, cook'; `May I trouble

you, cook?' She drops 'em about the kitchen as if they were

nothing."

The morning after the interview with Argus and his cat,

Callisto was in the schoolroom with her small pupils. Having

finished giving them their lessons, she was putting the French

exercise-books together and thinking, as she did it, of the

various things royal personages in disguise were called upon to

do: Alfred the Great, for instance, burning the cakes and

getting his ears boxed by the wife of the neat-herd. How

frightened she must have been when she found out what she had

done. If Miss Black should find out that she-Callisto, whose toes

were almost sticking out of her boots-was a princess-a real

one! The look in her eyes was exactly the look which Miss

Black most disliked. She would not have it; she was quite near

her and was so enraged that she actually flew at her and boxed

her ears-exactly as the neat-herd's wife had boxed King

Alfred's. It made Callisto start. She wakened from her dream at the

shock, and, catching her breath, stood still a second. Then, not

knowing she was going to do it, she broke into a little laugh.

"What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child?" Miss

Black exclaimed.

It took Callisto a few seconds to control herself sufficiently to

remember that she was a princess. Her ears were red and

smarting from the blows she had received.

"I was thinking," she answered.

"Beg my pardon immediately," said Miss Black.

Callisto hesitated a second before she replied.

"I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude," she said

then; "but I won't beg your pardon for thinking."

"What were you thinking?" demanded Miss Black.

"How dare you think? What were you thinking?"

Hermione tittered, and she and Ginny nudged each other in

unison. All the girls looked up from their books to listen.

Really, it always interested them a little when Miss Black

attacked Callisto. Callisto always said something queer, and never

seemed the least bit frightened. She was not in the least

frightened now, though her boxed ears were scarlet and her eyes

were as bright as stars.

"I was thinking," she answered grandly and politely, "that you

did not know what you were doing."

"That I did not know what I was doing?" Miss Black fairly

gasped.

"Yes," said Callisto, "and I was thinking what would happen if I were

a princess and you boxed my ears-what I should do to you. And I

was thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it,

whatever I said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and

frightened you would be if you suddenly found out-"

She had the imagined future so clearly before her eyes that she

spoke in a manner which had an effect even upon Miss Black. It

almost seemed for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind

that there must be some real power hidden behind this candid

daring.

"What?" she exclaimed. "Found out what?"

"That I really was a princess," said Callisto, "and could do

anything-anything I liked."

Every pair of eyes in the room widened to its full limit.

Ginny leaned forward on her seat to look.

"Go to your room," cried Miss Black, breathlessly, "this

instant! Leave the schoolroom! Attend to your lessons, young

ladies!"

Callisto made a little bow.

"Excuse me for laughing if it was impolite," she said, and

walked out of the room, leaving Miss Black struggling with her

rage, and the girls whispering over their books.

"Did you see her? Did you see how queer she looked?" Hermione

broke out. "I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out

to be something. Suppose she should!"

**Chapter 12: The Other Side of the Wall**

When one lives in a row of houses, it is interesting to think of

the things which are being done and said on the other side of

the wall of the very rooms one is living in. Callisto was fond of

amusing herself by trying to imagine the things hidden by the

wall which divided the Select Seminary from the Indian

gentleman's house. She knew that the schoolroom was next to the

Indian gentleman's study, and she hoped that the wall was thick

so that the noise made sometimes after lesson hours would not

disturb him.

"I am growing quite fond of him," she said to Millicent; "I

should not like him to be disturbed. I have adopted him for a

friend. You can do that with people you never speak to at all.

You can just watch them, and think about them and be sorry for

them, until they seem almost like relations. 'm quite anxious

sometimes when I see the doctor call twice a day."

"I have very few relations," said Millicent, reflectively, "and

I'm very glad of it. I don't like those I have. My two aunts

are always saying, `Dear me, Millicent! You are very fat. You

shouldn't eat sweets,' and my uncle is always asking me things

like, `When did Edward the Third ascend the throne?' and, `Who

died of a surfeit of lampreys?'"

Callisto laughed.

"People you never speak to can't ask you questions like that,"

she said; "and I'm sure the Indian gentleman wouldn't even if he

was quite intimate with you. I am fond of him."

She had become fond of the Large Family because they looked

happy; but she had become fond of the Indian gentleman because he

looked unhappy. He had evidently not fully recovered from some

very severe illness. In the kitchen-where, of course, the

servants, through some mysterious means, knew everything-there

was much discussion of his case. He was not an Indian gentleman

really, but an Englishman who had lived in India. He had met

with great misfortunes which had for a time so imperiled his

whole fortune that he had thought himself ruined and disgraced

forever. The shock had been so great that he had almost died of

brain fever; and ever since he had been shattered in health,

though his fortunes had changed and all his possessions had been

restored to him. His trouble and peril had been connected with

mines.

"And mines with diamonds in them!" said the cook. "No savings of

mine never goes into no mines-particular diamond ones"- with a

side glance at Callisto. "We all know something of THEM." "He felt

as my papa felt," Callisto thought. "He was ill as my papa was; but

he did not die."

So her heart was more drawn to him than before. When she was

sent out at night she used sometimes to feel quite glad, because

there was always a chance that the curtains of the house next

door might not yet be closed and she could look into the warm

room and see her adopted friend. When no one was about she used

sometimes to stop, and, holding to the iron railings, wish him

good night as if he could hear her.

"Perhaps you can FEEL if you can't hear," was her fancy.

"Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even through

windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and

comforted, and don't know why, when I am standing here in the

cold and hoping you will get well and happy again. I am so sorry

for you," she would whisper in an intense little voice. "I wish

you had a `Little Missus' who could pet you as I used to pet papa

when he had a headache. I should like to be your `Little Missus'

myself, poor dear! Good night-good night. God bless you!"

She would go away, feeling quite comforted and a little warmer

herself. Her sympathy was so strong that it seemed as if it MUST

reach him somehow as he sat alone in his armchair by the fire,

nearly always in a great dressing gown, and nearly always with

his forehead resting in his hand as he gazed hopelessly into the

fire. He looked to Callisto like a man who had a trouble on his mind

still, not merely like one whose troubles lay all in the past.

"He always seems as if he were thinking of something that hurts

him NOW", she said to herself, "but he has got his money back and

he will get over his brain fever in time, so he ought not to look

like that. I wonder if there is something else."

If there was something else-something even servants did not

hear of-she could not help believing that the father of the

Large Family knew it-the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency.

Mr. Montmorency went to see him often, and Mrs. Montmorency and

all the little Montmorencys went, too, though less often. He

seemed particularly fond of the two elder little girls-the Nymphadora

and Daphne who had been so alarmed when their small brother Draco

had given Callisto his sixpence. He had, in fact, a very tender

place in his heart for all children, and particularly for little

girls. Nymphadora and Daphne were as fond of him as he was of them, and

looked forward with the greatest pleasure to the afternoons when

they were allowed to cross the square and make their well-behaved

little visits to him. They were extremely decorous little visits

because he was an invalid.

"He is a poor thing," said Nymphadora, "and he says we cheer him up.

We try to cheer him up very quietly."

Nymphadora was the head of the family, and kept the rest of it in

order. It was she who decided when it was discreet to ask the

Indian gentleman to tell stories about India, and it was she who

saw when he was tired and it was the time to steal quietly away

and tell Argus to go to him. They were very fond of Argus.

He could have told any number of stories if he had been able to

speak anything but Hindustani. The Indian gentleman's real name

was Severus Snape, and Nymphadora told Mr. Snape about the

encounter with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. He was very

much interested, and all the more so when he heard from Argus

of the adventure of the cat on the roof. Argus made for

him a very clear picture of the attic and its desolateness-of

the bare floor and broken plaster, the rusty, empty grate, and

the hard, narrow bed.

"Lucius," he said to the father of the Large Family, after

he had heard this description, "I wonder how many of the attics in

this square are like that one, and how many wretched little

servant girls sleep on such beds, while I toss on my down

pillows, loaded and harassed by wealth that is, most of it-not

mine."

"My dear fellow," Lucius Malfoy answered cheerily, "the sooner

you cease tormenting yourself the better it will be for you. If

you possessed all the wealth of all the Indies, you could not set

right all the discomforts in the world, and if you began to

refurnish all the attics in this square, there would still

remain all the attics in all the other squares and streets to put

in order. And there you are!"

Mr. Snape sat and bit his nail as he looked into the

glowing bed of coals in the grate.

"Do you suppose," he said slowly, after a pause-"do you think

it is possible that the other child-the child I never cease

thinking of, I believe-could be-could POSSIBLY be reduced to

any such condition as the poor little soul next door?"

Mr. Malfoy looked at him uneasily. He knew that the worst

thing the man could do for himself, for his reason and his

health, was to begin to think in the particular way of this

particular subject.

"If the child at Madame Zabini's school in Paris was the one you

are in search of," he answered soothingly, "she would seem to be

in the hands of people who can afford to take care of her. They

adopted her because she had been the favorite companion of their

little daughter who died. They had no other children, and Madame

Zabini said that they were extremely well-to-do Russians."

"And the wretched woman actually did not know where they had

taken her!" exclaimed Mr. Snape.

Mr. Malfoy shrugged his shoulders.

"She was a shrewd, worldly Frenchwoman, and was evidently only

too glad to get the child so comfortably off her hands when the

father's death left her totally unprovided for. Women of her

type do not trouble themselves about the futures of children who

might prove burdens. The adopted parents apparently disappeared

and left no trace."

"But you say `IF the child was the one I am in search of. You

say 'if.' We are not sure. There was a difference in the

name."

"Madame Zabini pronounced it as if it were Silvier instead of

Silver-but that might be merely a matter of pronunciation. The

circumstances were curiously similar. An English officer in

India had placed his motherless little girl at the school. He

had died suddenly after losing his fortune." Mr. Malfoy

paused a moment, as if a new thought had occurred to him. "Are

you SURE the child was left at a school in Paris? Are you sure

it was Paris?"

"My dear fellow," broke forth Severus, with restless

bitterness, "I am SURE of nothing. I never saw either the child

or her mother. Christ Silver and I loved each other as boys, but

we had not met since our school days, until we met in India. I

was absorbed in the magnificent promise of the mines. He became

absorbed, too. The whole thing was so huge and glittering that

we half lost our heads. When we met we scarcely spoke of

anything else. I only knew that the child had been sent to

school somewhere. I do not even remember, now, HOW I knew it."

He was beginning to be excited. He always became excited when

his still weakened brain was stirred by memories of the

catastrophes of the past.

Mr. Malfoy watched him anxiously. It was necessary to ask

some questions, but they must be put quietly and with caution.

"But you had reason to think the school WAS in Paris?"

"Yes," was the answer, "because her mother was a Frenchwoman, and

I had heard that she wished her child to be educated in Paris.

It seemed only likely that she would be there."

"Yes," Mr. Malfoy said, "it seems more than probable."

The Indian gentleman leaned forward and struck the table with a

long, wasted hand.

"Lucius," he said, "I MUST find her. If she is alive, she is

somewhere. If she is friendless and penniless, it is through my

fault. How is a man to get back his nerve with a thing like that

on his mind? This sudden change of luck at the mines has made

realities of all our most fantastic dreams, and poor Christ's

child may be begging in the street!"

"No, no," said Lucius. "Try to be calm. Console yourself

with the fact that when she is found you have a fortune to hand

over to her."

"Why was I not man enough to stand my ground when things looked

black?" Severus groaned in petulant misery. "I believe I

should have stood my ground if I had not been responsible for

other people's money as well as my own. Poor Christ had put into

the scheme every penny that he owned. He trusted me-he LOVED

me. And he died thinking I had ruined him-I—Severus Snape,

who played cricket at Eton with him. What a villain he must have

thought me!"

"Don't reproach yourself so bitterly."

"I don't reproach myself because the speculation threatened to

fail-I reproach myself for losing my courage. I ran away like

a swindler and a thief, because I could not face my best friend

and tell him I had ruined him and his child."

The good-hearted father of the Large Family put his hand on his

shoulder comfortingly.

"You ran away because your brain had given way under the strain

of mental torture," he said. "You were half delirious already.

If you had not been you would have stayed and fought it out. You

were in a hospital, strapped down in bed, raving with brain

fever, two days after you left the place. Remember that."

Severus dropped his forehead in his hands.

"Good God! Yes," he said. "I was driven mad with dread and

horror. I had not slept for weeks. The night I staggered out of

my house all the air seemed full of hideous things mocking and

mouthing at me."

"That is explanation enough in itself," said Mr. Malfoy.

"How could a man on the verge of brain fever judge sanely!"

Severus shook his drooping head.

"And when I returned to consciousness poor Christ was dead-and

buried. And I seemed to remember nothing. I did not remember

the child for months and months. Even when I began to recall her

existence everything seemed in a sort of haze."

He stopped a moment and rubbed his forehead. "It sometimes

seems so now when I try to remember. Surely I must sometime have

heard Christ speak of the school she was sent to. Don't you think

so?"

"He might not have spoken of it definitely. You never seem even

to have heard her real name."

"He used to call her by an odd pet name he had invented. He

called her his `Little Missus.' But the wretched mines drove

everything else out of our heads. We talked of nothing else. If

he spoke of the school, I forgot-I forgot. And now I shall

never remember."

"Come, come," said Lucius. "We shall find her yet. We will

continue to search for Madame Zabini's good-natured Russians.

She seemed to have a vague idea that they lived in Moscow. We

will take that as a clue. I will go to Moscow."

"If I were able to travel, I would go with you," said

Severus; "but I can only sit here wrapped in furs and stare at

the fire. And when I look into it I seem to see Christ's gay

young face gazing back at me. He looks as if he were asking me a

question. Sometimes I dream of him at night, and he always

stands before me and asks the same question in words. Can you

guess what he says, Lucius?"

Mr. Malfoy answered him in a rather low voice.

"Not exactly," he said.

"He always says, `Severus, my friend- Severus-where is the Little

Missus?'" He caught at Lucius's hand and clung to it. "I

must be able to answer him-I must!" he said. "Help me to find

her. Help me."

On the other side of the wall Callisto was sitting in her garret

talking to Melchisedec, who had come out for his evening meal.

"It has been hard to be a princess today, Melchisedec," she

said. "It has been harder than usual. It gets harder as the

weather grows colder and the streets get more sloppy. When

Ginny laughed at my muddy skirt as I passed her in the hall, I

thought of something to say all in a flash-and I only just

stopped myself in time. You can't sneer back at people like that-

-if you are a princess. But you have to bite your tongue to hold

yourself in. I bit mine. It was a cold afternoon, Melchisedec.

And it's a cold night."

Quite suddenly she put her head down in her arms, as she

often did when she was alone.

"Oh, papa," she whispered, "what a long time it seems since I was

your `Little Missus'!"

This was what happened that day on both sides of the wall.

**Chapter 13: One of the Populace**

The winter was a wretched one. There were days on which Callisto

tramped through snow when she went on her errands; there were

worse days when the snow melted and combined itself with mud to

form slush; there were others when the fog was so thick that the

lamps in the street were lighted all day and London looked as it

had looked the afternoon, several years ago, when the cab had

driven through the thoroughfares with Callisto tucked up on its seat,

leaning against her father's shoulder. On such days the windows

of the house of the Large Family always looked delightfully cozy

and alluring, and the study in which the Indian gentleman sat

glowed with warmth and rich color. But the attic was dismal

beyond words. There were no longer sunsets or sunrises to look

at, and scarcely ever any stars, it seemed to Callisto. The clouds

hung low over the skylight and were either gray or mud-color, or

dropping heavy rain. At four o'clock in the afternoon, even when

there was no special fog, the daylight was at an end. If it was

necessary to go to her attic for anything, Callisto was obliged to

light a candle. The women in the kitchen were depressed, and

that made them more ill-tempered than ever. Circe was driven

like a little slave.

"If it wasn't for you, miss," she said hoarsely to Callisto one night

when she had crept into the attic-"if it wasn't for you, and the

Bastille, and being the prisoner in the next cell, I should die.

That does seem real now, doesn't it? The missus is more

like the head jailer every day she lives. I can just see the

big keys you say she carries. The cook, she's like one of the

under-jailers. Tell me some more, please, miss-tell me about

the subterranean passage we've dug under the walls."

"I'll tell you something warmer," shivered Callisto. "Get your

coverlet and wrap it round you, and I'll get mine, and we will

huddle close together on the bed, and I'll tell you about the

big farm where the Indian gentleman's cat used to live.

When I see her sitting on the table near the window and looking

out into the street with that mournful expression, I always feel

sure she is thinking about the warm barn where she used to

play with her brothers and sisters. I wonder if she left a family

behind who wondered for days on end about where she went ."

"That is warmer, miss," said Circe, gratefully; "but, someways,

even the Bastille is sort of heating when you tell me

about it."

"That is because it makes you think of something else," said

Callisto, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her small fair

face was to be seen looking out of it. "I've noticed this. What

you have to do with your mind, when your body is miserable, is to

make it think of something else."

"Can you do it, miss?" faltered Circe, regarding her with

admiring eyes.

Callisto knitted her brows a moment.

"Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't," she said stoutly. "But

when I CAN I'm all right. And what I believe is that we always

could-if we practiced enough. I've been practicing a good deal

lately, and it's beginning to be easier than it used to be. When

things are horrible-just horrible-I think as hard as ever I can

of being a princess. I say to myself, `I am a princess, and I am

a fairy one, and because I am a fairy nothing can hurt me or make

me uncomfortable.' You don't know how it makes you forget"-

with a laugh.

She had many opportunities of making her mind think of something

else, and many opportunities of proving to herself whether or not

she was a princess. But one of the strongest tests she was ever

put to came on a certain dreadful day which, she often thought

afterward, would never quite fade out of her memory even in the

years to come.

For several days it had rained continuously; the streets were

chilly and sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist; there was mud

everywhere-sticky London mud-and over everything the pall of

drizzle and fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome

errands to be done-there always were on days like this-and

Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were

damp through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were

more draggled and absurd than ever, and her downtrodden shoes

were so wet that they could not hold any more water. Added to

this, she had been deprived of her dinner, because Miss Black

had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry and tired

that her face began to have a pinched look, and now and then some

kind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with

sudden sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on,

trying to make her mind think of something else. It was really

very necessary. Her way of doing it was to "pretend" and

"suppose" with all the strength that was left in her. But really

this time it was harder than she had ever found it, and once or

twice she thought it almost made her more cold and hungry instead

of less so. But she persevered obstinately, and as the muddy

water squelched through her broken shoes and the wind seemed

trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talked to herself as

she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move her lips.

"Suppose I had dry clothes on," she thought. "Suppose I had

good shoes and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a

whole umbrella. And suppose-suppose-just when I was near a

baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find sixpence-which

belonged to nobody. SUPPOSE if I did, I should go into the shop

and buy six of the hottest buns and eat them all without

stopping."

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes.

It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Callisto. She had to

cross the street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud

was dreadful-she almost had to wade. She picked her way as

carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much;

only, in picking her way, she had to look down at her feet and

the mud, and in looking down-just as she reached the pavement-

she saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece

of silver-a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with

spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but

the next thing to it-a fourpenny piece.

In one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand.

"Oh," she gasped, "it is true! It is true!"

And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the

shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's shop, and a

cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks was putting into

the window a tray of delicious newly baked hot buns, fresh from

the oven-large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in them.

It almost made Callisto feel faint for a few seconds-the shock, and

the sight of the buns, and the delightful odors of warm bread

floating up through the baker's cellar window.

She knew she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money.

It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its

owner was completely lost in the stream of passing people who

crowded and jostled each other all day long.

"But I'll go and ask the baker woman if she has lost anything,"

she said to herself, rather faintly. So she crossed the

pavement and put her wet foot on the step. As she did so she saw

something that made her stop.

It was a little figure more forlorn even than herself-a little

figure which was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which

small, bare, red muddy feet peeped out, only because the rags

with which their owner was trying to cover them were not long

enough. Above the rags appeared a shock head of tangled blond hair,

and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungry eyes.

Callisto knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she

felt a sudden sympathy.

"This," she said to herself, with a little sigh, "is one of the

populace-and she is hungrier than I am."

The child-this "one of the populace"-stared up at Callisto, and

shuffled herself aside a little, so as to give her room to pass.

She was used to being made to give room to everybody. She knew

that if a policeman chanced to see her he would tell her to

"move on."

Callisto clutched her little fourpenny piece and hesitated for a few

seconds. Then she spoke to her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more.

"Ain't I just?" she said in a hoarse voice. "Just ain't I?"

"Haven't you had any dinner?" said Callisto.

"No dinner," more hoarsely still and with more shuffling. "Nor

yet no breakfast-nor yet no supper. No nothing.

"Since when?" asked Callisto.

"Don't know. Never got nothing today-nowhere. I've asked and asked."

Just to look at her made Callisto more hungry and faint. But those

queer little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was

talking to herself, though she was sick at heart.

"If I'm a princess," she was saying, "if I'm a princess-when

they were poor and driven from their thrones-they always shared-

with the populace-if they met one poorer and hungrier than

themselves. They always shared. Buns are a penny each. If it

had been sixpence I could have eaten six. It won't be enough for

either of us. But it will be better than nothing."

"Wait a minute," she said to the beggar child.

She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled deliciously.

The woman was just going to put some more hot buns into the

window.

"If you please," said Callisto, "have you lost fourpence-a silver

fourpence?" And she held the forlorn little piece of money out

to her.

The woman looked at it and then at her-at her intense little

face and draggled, once fine clothes.

"Bless us, no," she answered. "Did you find it?"

"Yes," said Callisto. "In the gutter."

"Keep it, then," said the woman. "It may have been there for a

week, and goodness knows who lost it. YOU could never find out."

"I know that," said Callisto, "but I thought I would ask you."

"Not many would," said the woman, looking puzzled and interested

and good-natured all at once.

"Do you want to buy something?" she added, as she saw Callisto

glance at the buns.

"Four buns, if you please," said Callisto. "Those at a penny each."

The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag.

Callisto noticed that she put in six.

"I said four, if you please," she explained. "I have only

fourpence."

"I'll throw in two for makeweight," said the woman with her good-

natured look. "I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren't you

hungry?"

A mist rose before Callisto's eyes.

"Yes," she answered. "I am very hungry, and I am much obliged

to you for your kindness; and"-she was going to add-"there is a

child outside who is hungrier than I am." But just at that

moment two or three customers came in at once, and each one

seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank the woman again and go

out.

The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step.

She looked miserable in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring

straight before her with a look of suffering, and Callisto

saw her suddenly draw the back of her roughened hand across

her eyes to rub away the tears which seemed to have surprised her

by forcing their way from under her lids. She was muttering to

herself.

Callisto opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which

had already warmed her own cold hands a little.

"See," she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, "this is

nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry."

The child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden,

amazing good luck almost frightened her; then she picked up the

bun and to eat it hungrily.

"Oh, my! Oh, my!" Callisto heard her say hoarsely, in

delight. "OH my!"

Sara took out three more buns and put them down.

"She is hungrier than I am," she said to herself. "She's

starving." But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth

bun. "I'm not starving," she said-and she put down the fifth.

The little ravenous London beggar was still eating and

devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any

thanks, even if she had ever been taught politeness. Callisto didn't mind.

After all, the hungry beggar was only a poor little street child.

"Good-bye," said Callisto.

When she reached the other side of the street she looked back.

The child had a bun in one hand and had stopped in the middle of

a bite to watch her. Callisto gave her a little nod, and the child,

after another stare-a curious lingering stare-jerked her

shaggy head in response, and until Callisto was out of sight she did

not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun.

At that moment the baker-woman looked out of her shop window.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If that young one hasn't given

her buns to a beggar child! It wasn't because she didn't want

them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give

something to know what she did it for."

She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then

her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and

spoke to the beggar child.

"Who gave you those buns?" she asked her. The child nodded her

head toward Callisto's vanishing figure.

"What did she say?" inquired the woman.

"Asked me if I was hungry," replied the hoarse voice.

"What did you say?"

"Said I was just."

"And then she came in and got the buns, and gave them to you, did

she?"

The child nodded.

"How many?"

"Five."

The woman thought it over.

"Left just one for herself," she said in a low voice. "And she

could have eaten the whole six-I saw it in her eyes."

She looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt

more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt

for many a day.

"I wish she hadn't gone so quick," she said. "I'm blest if she

shouldn't have had a dozen." Then she turned to the child.

"Are you hungry yet?" she said.

"I'm always hungry," was the answer, "but it ain't as bad as it

was."

"Come in here," said the woman, and she held open the shop door.

The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm

place full of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not

know what was going to happen. She did not care, even.

"Get yourself warm," said the woman, pointing to a fire in the

tiny back room. "And look here; when you are hard up for a bit

of bread, you can come in here and ask for it. I'm blest if I

won't give it to you for that young one's sake."

On the street back to the Seminary, Callisto sought comfort in her bun. At all events, it

was very hot, and it was better than nothing. As she walked

along she broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make

them last longer.

"Suppose it was a magic bun," she said, "and a bite was as much

as a whole dinner. I should be overeating myself if I went on

like this."

It was dark when she reached the square where the Select

Seminary was situated. The lights in the houses were all

lighted. The blinds were not yet drawn in the windows of the

room where she nearly always caught glimpses of members of the

Large Family. Frequently at this hour she could see the

gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a big chair, with

a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on the arms

of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them. This

evening the swarm was about him, but he was not seated. On the

contrary, there was a good deal of excitement going on. It was

evident that a journey was to be taken, and it was Mr.

Montmorency who was to take it. A brougham stood before the

door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped upon it. The

children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to their

father. The beautiful mother was standing near him, talking as

if she was asking final questions. Sara paused a moment to see

the little ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent

over and kissed also.

"I wonder if he will stay away long," she thought. "The

portmanteau is rather big. Oh, dear, how they will miss him! I

shall miss him myself-even though he doesn't know I am alive."

When the door opened she moved away-remembering the sixpence-

but she saw the traveler come out and stand against the

background of the warmly-lighted hall, the older children still

hovering about him.

"Will Moscow be covered with snow?" said the little girl Nymphadora.

"Will there be ice everywhere?"

"Shall you drive in a drosky?" cried another. "Shall you see the

Czar?"

"I will write and tell you all about it," he answered, laughing.

"And I will send you pictures of muzhiks and things. Run into

the house. It is a hideous damp night. I would rather stay with

you than go to Moscow. Good night! Good night, children! God

bless you!" And he ran down the steps and jumped into the

brougham.

"If you find the little girl, give her our love," shouted Guy

Clarence, jumping up and down on the door mat.

Then they went in and shut the door.

"Did you see," said Nymphadora to Daphne, as they went back to the room-

-"the little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar was passing? She looked

all cold and wet, and I saw her turn her head over her shoulder

and look at us. Mamma says her clothes always look as if they

had been given her by someone who was quite rich-someone who

only let her have them because they were too shabby to wear. The

people at the school always send her out on errands on the

horridest days and nights there are."

Callisto crossed the square to Miss Black's area steps, feeling

faint and shaky.

"I wonder who the little girl is," she thought-"the little girl

he is going to look for."

And she went down the area steps, lugging her basket and finding

it very heavy indeed, as the father of the Large Family drove

quickly on his way to the station to take the train which was to

carry him to Moscow, where he was to make his best efforts to

search for the lost little daughter of Captain Silver

**Chapter 14: What Melchisedec Heard and Saw**

On this very afternoon, while Callisto was out, a strange thing

happened in the attic. Only Melchisedec saw and heard it; and he

was so much alarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his

hole and hid there, and really quaked and trembled as he peeped

out furtively and with great caution to watch what was going on.

The attic had been very still all the day after Callisto had left it

in the early morning. The stillness had only been broken by the

pattering of the rain upon the slates and the skylight.

Melchisedec had, in fact, found it rather dull; and when the

rain ceased to patter and perfect silence reigned, he decided to

come out and reconnoiter, though experience taught him that Sara

would not return for some time. He had been rambling and

sniffing about, and had just found a totally unexpected and

unexplained crumb left from his last meal, when his attention was

attracted by a sound on the roof. He stopped to listen with a

palpitating heart. The sound suggested that something was moving

on the roof. It was approaching the skylight; it reached the

skylight. The skylight was being mysteriously opened. A dark

face peered into the attic; then another face appeared behind it,

and both looked in with signs of caution and interest. Two men

were outside on the roof, and were making silent preparations to

enter through the skylight itself. One was Argus and the

other was a young man who was the Indian gentleman's secretary;

but of course Melchisedec did not know this. He only knew that

the men were invading the silence and privacy of the attic; and

as the one with the Indian face let himself down through the

aperture with such lightness and dexterity that he did not make

the slightest sound, Melchisedec turned tail and fled

precipitately back tohis hole. He was frightened to death. He

had ceased to be timid with Callisto, and knew she would never throw

anything but crumbs, and would never make any sound other than

the soft, low, coaxing whistling; but strange men were dangerous

things to remain near. He lay close and flat near the entrance

of his home, just managing to peep through the crack with a

bright, alarmed eye. How much he understood of the talk he heard

I am not in the least able to say; but, even if he had understood

it all, he would probably have remained greatly mystified.

The secretary, who was light and young, slipped through the

skylight as noiselessly as Argus had done; and he caught a

last glimpse of Melchisedec's vanishing tail.

"Was that a rat?" he asked Argus in a whisper.

"Yes; a rat, Sahib," answered Argus, also whispering. "There

are many in the walls."

"Ugh!" exclaimed the young man. "It is a wonder the child is

not terrified of them."

Argus made a gesture with his hands. He also smiled

respectfully. He was in this place as the intimate exponent of

Callisto, though she had only spoken to him once.

"The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib," he

answered. "She is not as other children. I see her when she

does not see me. I slip across the slates and look at her many

nights to see that she is safe. I watch her from my window when

she does not know I am near. She stands on the table there and

looks out at the sky as if it spoke to her. The sparrows come at

her call. The rat she has fed and tamed in her loneliness. The

poor slave of the house comes to her for comfort. There is a

little child who comes to her in secret; there is one older who

worships her and would listen to her forever if she might. This

I have seen when I have crept across the roof. By the mistress

of the house-who is an evil woman-she is treated like a pariah;

but she has the bearing of a child who is of the blood of kings!"

"You seem to know a great deal about her," the secretary said.

"All her life each day I know," answered Argus. "Her going

out I know, and her coming in; her sadness and her poor joys; her

coldness and her hunger. I know when she is alone until

midnight, learning from her books; I know when her secret friends

steal to her and she is happier-as children can be, even in the

midst of poverty-because they come and she may laugh and talk

with them in whispers. If she were ill I should know, and I

would come and serve her if it might be done."

"You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, and that

she will not return and surprise us. She would be frightened if

she found us here, and the Sahib Snape's plan would be

spoiled."

Argus crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close to it.

"None mount here but herself, Sahib," he said. "She has gone

out with her basket and may be gone for hours. If I stand here I

can hear any step before it reaches the last flight of the

stairs."

The secretary took a pencil and a tablet from his breast pocket.

"Keep your ears open," he said; and he began to walk slowly and

softly round the miserable little room, making rapid notes on his

tablet as he looked at things.

First he went to the narrow bed. He pressed his hand upon the

mattress and uttered an exclamation.

"As hard as a stone," he said. "That will have to be altered

some day when she is out. A special journey can be made to bring

it across. It cannot be done tonight." He lifted the covering

and examined the one thin pillow.

"Coverlet dingy and worn, blanket thin, sheets patched and

ragged," he said. "What a bed for a child to sleep in-and in a

house which calls itself respectable! There has not been a fire

in that grate for many a day," glancing at the rusty fireplace.

"Never since I have seen it," said Argus. "The mistress of

the house is not one who remembers that another than herself may

be cold."

The secretary was writing quickly on his tablet. He looked up

from it as he tore off a leaf and slipped it into his breast

pocket.

"It is a strange way of doing the thing," he said. "Who planned

it?"

Argus made a modestly apologetic obeisance.

"It is true that the first thought was mine, Sahib," he said;

"though it was naught but a fancy. I am fond of this child; we

are both lonely. It is her way to relate her visions to her

secret friends. Being sad one night, I lay close to the open

skylight and listened. The vision she related told what this

miserable room might be if it had comforts in it. She seemed to

see it as she talked, and she grew cheered and warmed as she

spoke. Then she came to this fancy; and the next day, the Sahib

being ill and wretched, I told him of the thing to amuse him. It

seemed then but a dream, but it pleased the Sahib. To hear of

the child's doings gave him entertainment. He became interested

in her and asked questions. At last he began to please himself

with the thought of making her visions real things."

"You think that it can be done while she sleeps? Suppose she

awakened," suggested the secretary; and it was evident that

whatsoever the plan referred to was, it had caught and pleased

his fancy as well as the Sahib Snape's.

"I can move as if my feet were of velvet," Argus replied; "and

children sleep soundly-even the unhappy ones. I could have

entered this room in the night many times, and without causing

her to turn upon her pillow. If the other bearer passes to me

the things through the window, I can do all and she will not

stir. When she awakens she will think a magician has been here."

He smiled as if his heart warmed under his white robe, and the

secretary smiled back at him.

"It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights," he said.

"Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to

London fogs."

They did not remain very long, to the great relief of

Melchisedec, who, as he probably did not comprehend their

conversation, felt their movements and whispers ominous. The

young secretary seemed interested in everything. He wrote down

things about the floor, the fireplace, the broken footstool, the

old table, the walls-which last he touched with his hand again

and again, seeming much pleased when he found that a number of

old nails had been driven in various places.

"You can hang things on them," he said.

Argus smiled mysteriously.

"Yesterday, when she was out," he said, "I entered, bringing

with me small, sharp nails which can be pressed into the wall

without blows from a hammer. I placed many in the plaster where

I may need them. They are ready."

The Indian gentleman's secretary stood still and looked round

him as he thrust his tablets back into his pocket.

"I think I have made notes enough; we can go now," he said. "The

Sahib Snape has a warm heart. It is a thousand pities that

he has not found the lost child."

"If he should find her his strength would be restored to him,"

said Argus. "His God may lead her to him yet."

Then they slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as they had

entered it. And, after he was quite sure they had gone,

Melchisedec was greatly relieved, and in the course of a few

minutes felt it safe to emerge from his hole again and scuffle

about in the hope that even such alarming human beings as these

might have chanced to carry crumbs in their pockets and drop one

or two of them.

**Chapter 15: The Magic**

When Callisto had passed the house next door she had seen Argus

closing the shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also.

"It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside," was

the thought which crossed her mind.

There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and the

Indian gentleman was sitting before it. His head was resting in

his hand, and he looked as lonely and unhappy as ever.

"Poor man!" said Callisto. "I wonder what you are supposing."

And this was what he was "supposing" at that very moment.

"Suppose," he was thinking, "suppose-even if Lucius traces

the people to Moscow-the little girl they took from Madame

Zabini's school in Paris is NOT the one we are in search of.

Suppose she proves to be quite a different child. What steps

shall I take next?"

When Callisto went into the house she met Miss Black, who had come

downstairs to scold the cook.

"Where have you wasted your time?" she demanded. "You have been

out for hours."

"It was so wet and muddy," Callisto answered, "it was hard to walk,

because my shoes were so bad and slipped about."

"Make no excuses," said Miss Black, "and tell no falsehoods."

Callisto went in to the cook. The cook had received a severe

lecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. She was only

too rejoiced to have someone to vent her rage on, and Callisto was a

convenience, as usual.

"Why didn't you stay all night?" she snapped.

Callisti laid her purchases on the table.

"Here are the things," she said.

The cook looked them over, grumbling. She was in a very savage

humor indeed.

"May I have something to eat?" Callisto asked rather faintly.

"Tea's over and done with," was the answer. "Did you expect me

to keep it hot for you?"

Callisto stood silent for a second.

"I had no dinner," she said next, and her voice was quite low.

She made it low because she was afraid it would tremble.

"There's some bread in the pantry," said the cook. "That's all

you'll get at this time of day."

Callisto went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The

cook was in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with

it. It was always safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara.

Really, it was hard for the child to climb the three long

flights of stairs leading to her attic. She often found them

long and steep when she was tired; but tonight it seemed as if

she would never reach the top. Several times she was obliged to

stop to rest. When she reached the top landing she was glad to

see the glimmer of a light coming from under her door. That

meant that Millicent had managed to creep up to pay her a visit.

There was some comfort in that. It was better than to go into

the room alone and find it empty and desolate. The mere presence

of plump, comfortable Millicent, wrapped in her red shawl, would

warm it a little.

Yes; there Millicent was when she opened the door. She was

sitting in the middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safely

under her. She had never become intimate with Melchisedec and

his family, though they rather fascinated her. When she found

herself alone in the attic she always preferred to sit on the bed

until Callisto arrived. She had, in fact, on this occasion had time

to become rather nervous, because Melchisedec had appeared and

sniffed about a good deal, and once had made her utter a

repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while he

looked at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction.

"Oh, Callisto," she cried out, "I am glad you have come. Melchy

WOULD sniff about so. I tried to coax him to go back, but he

wouldn't for such a long time. I like him, you know; but it does

frighten me when he sniffs right at me. Do you think he ever

WOULD jump?"

"No," answered Callisto.

Millicent crawled forward on the bed to look at her.

"You DO look tired, Callisto," she said; "you are quite pale."

"I AM tired," said Callisto, dropping on to the lopsided footstool.

"Oh, there's Melchisedec, poor thing. He's come to ask for his

supper."

Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listening

for her footstep. Callisto was quite sure he knew it. He came

forward with anaffectionate, expectant expression as Callisto put

her hand in her pocket and turned it inside out, shaking her

head.

"I'm very sorry," she said. "I haven't one crumb left. Go

home, Melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in my

pocket. I'm afraid I forgot because the cook and Miss Black

were so cross."

Melchisedec seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, if not

contentedly, back to his home.

"I did not expect to see you tonight, Millie," Callisto said.

Millicent hugged herself in the red shawl.

"Miss Andromeda has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt,"

she explained. "No one else ever comes and looks into the

bedrooms after we are in bed. I could stay here until morning if

I wanted to."

She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Callisto had not

looked toward it as she came in. A number of books were piled

upon it. Millicent's gesture was a dejected one.

"Papa has sent me some more books, Callisto," she said. "There they

are."

Callisto looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table, and

picking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For

the moment she forgot her discomforts.

"Ah," she cried out, "how beautiful! Carlyle's French

Revolution. I have SO wanted to read that!"

"I haven't," said Millicent. "And papa will be so cross if I

don't. He'll expect me to know all about it when I go home for

the holidays. What SHALL I do?"

Callisto stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with an

excited flush on her cheeks.

"Look here," she cried, "if you'll lend me these books, I'll

read them-and tell you everything that's in them afterward- and

I'll tell it so that you will remember it, too."

"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Millicent. "Do you think you can?"

"I know I can," Callisto answered. "The little ones always remember

what I tell them."

"Callie," said Millicent, hope gleaming in her round face, "if

you'll do that, and make me remember, I'll-I'll give you

anything."

"I don't want you to give me anything," said Callisto. "I want to read your

books-I want to!" And her eyes grew big, and her cheeks

flushed.

"Take them, then," said Millicent. "I wish I wanted them-but

I don't. I'm not clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought

to be."

Callisto was opening one book after the other. "What are you going

to tell your father?" she asked, a slight doubt dawning in her

mind.

"Oh, he needn't know," answered Millicent. "He'll think I've

read them."

Callisto put down her book and shook her head slowly. "That's

almost like telling lies," she said. "And lies-well, you see,

they are not only wicked-they're VULGAR. Sometimes"-

reflectively-"I've thought perhaps I might do something wicked-

I might suddenly fly into a rage and kill Miss Black, you know,

when she was ill-treating me-but I COULDN'T be vulgar. Why

can't you tell your father I read them?"

"He wants me to read them," said Millicent, a little

discouraged by this unexpected turn of affairs.

"He wants you to know what is in them," said Callisto. "And if I

can tell it to you in an easy way and make you remember it, I

should think he would like that."

"He'll like it if I learn anything in ANY way," said rueful

Millicent. "You would if you were my father."

"It's not your fault that-" began Callisto. She pulled herself up

and stopped rather suddenly. She had been going to say, "It's

not your fault that you are stupid."

"That what?" Millicent asked.

"That you can't learn things quickly," amended Callisto. "If you

can't, you can't. If I can-why, I can; that's all."

She always felt very tender of Millicent and tried not to let

her feel too strongly the difference between being able to learn

anything at once, and not being able to learn anything at all.

As she looked at her plump face, one of her wise, old-fashioned

thoughts came to her.

"Perhaps," she said, "to be able to learn things quickly isn't

everything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people.

If Miss Black knew everything on earth and was like what she

is now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would

hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have been

wicked. Look at Robespierre-"

She stopped and examined Millicent's countenance, which was

beginning to look bewildered. "Don't you remember?" she

demanded. "I told you about him not long ago. I believe you've

forgotten."

"Well, I don't remember ALL of it," admitted Millicent.

"Well, you wait a minute," said Callisto, "and I'll take off my wet

things and wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again."

She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against

the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of

slippers. Then she jumped on the bed, and drawing the coverlet

about her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees. "Now,

listen," she said.

She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, and

told such stories of it that Millicent's eyes grew round with

alarm and she held her breath. But though she was rather

terrified, there was a delightful thrill in listening, and she

was not likely to forget Robespierre again, or to have any doubts

about the Princesse de Lamballe.

"You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it," Callisto

explained. "And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and when

I think of her, I never see her head on her body, but always on a

pike, with those furious people dancing and howling."

It was agreed that Mr. Bulstrode was to be told the plan they had

made, and for the present the books were to be left in the attic.

"Now let's tell each other things," said Callisto. "How are you

getting on with your French lessons?"

"Ever so much better since the last time I came up here and you

explained the conjugations. Miss Black could not understand

why I did my exercises so well that first morning."

Callisto laughed a little and hugged her knees.

"She doesn't understand why Astoria is doing her sums so well,"

she said; "but it is because she creeps up here, too, and I help

her." She glanced round the room. "The attic would be rather

nice-if it wasn't so dreadful," she said, laughing again. "It's

a good place to pretend in."

The truth was that Millicent did not know anything of the

sometimes almost unbearable side of life in the attic and she

had not a sufficiently vivid imagination to depict it for

herself. On the rare occasions that she could reach Callisto's room

she only saw the side of it which was made exciting by things

which were "pretended" and stories which were told. Her visits

partook of the character of adventures; and though sometimes callisto

looked rather pale, and it was not to be denied that she had

grown very thin, her proud spirit would not admit of

complaints. She had never confessed that at times she was almost

ravenous with hunger, as she was tonight. She was growing

rapidly, and her constant walking and running about would have

given her a keen appetite even if she had had abundant and

regular meals of a much more nourishing nature than the

unappetizing, inferior food snatched at such odd times as suited

the kitchen convenience. She was growing used to a certain

gnawing feeling in her young stomach.

"I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and

weary march," she often said to herself. She liked the sound of

the phrase, "long and weary march." It made her feel rather like

a soldier. She had also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the

attic.

"If I lived in a castle," she argued, "and Millicent was the

lady of another castle, and came to see me, with knights and

squires and vassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when I

heard the clarions sounding outside the drawbridge I should go

down to receive her, and I should spread feasts in the banquet

hall and call in minstrels to sing and play and relate romances.

When she comes into the attic I can't spread feasts, but I can

tell stories, and not let her know disagreeable things. I dare

say poor chatelaines had to do that in time of famine, when their

lands had been pillaged." She was a proud, brave little

chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitality she

could offer-the dreams she dreamed-the visions she saw-the

imaginings which were her joy and comfort.

So, as they sat together, Millicent did not know that she was

faint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked she now and

then wondered if her hunger would let her sleep when she was left

alone. She felt as if she had never been quite so hungry before.

"I wish I was as thin as you, Callisto," Millicent said suddenly.

"I believe you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes look

so big, and look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your

elbow!"

Callisto pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up.

"I always was a thin child," she said bravely, "and I always had

big gray eyes."

"I love your queer eyes," said Millicent, looking into them with

affectionate admiration. "They always look as if they saw such a

long way. I love them-and I love them to be gray-though they

look silver generally."

"They are cat's eyes," laughed Callisto; "but I can't see in the

dark with them-because I have tried, and I couldn't-I wish I

could."

It was just at this minute that something happened at the

skylight which neither of them saw. If either of them had

chanced to turn and look, she would have been startled by the

sight of a face which peered cautiously into the room and

disappeared as quickly and almost as silently as it had appeared.

Not QUITE as silently, however. Callisto, who had keen ears,

suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof.

"That didn't sound like Melchisedec," she said. "It wasn't

scratchy enough."

"What?" said Millicent, a little startled.

"Didn't you think you heard something?" asked Callisto.

"N-no," Millicent faltered. "Did you?"

"Perhaps Ididn't," said callisto; "but I thought I did. It sounded

as if something was on the slates-something that dragged

softly."

"What could it be?" said Millicent. "Could it be-robbers?"

"No," Callisto began cheerfully. "There is nothing to steal-"

She broke off in the middle of her words. They both heard the

sound that checked her. It was not on the slates, but on the

stairs below, and it was Miss Black's angry voice. Callisto sprang

off the bed, and put out the candle.

"She is scolding Circe," she whispered, as she stood in the

darkness. "She is making her cry."

"Will she come in here?" Millicent whispered back, panic-

stricken.

"No. She will think I am in bed. Don't stir."

It was very seldom that Miss Black mounted the last flight of

stairs. Callisto could only remember that she had done it once

before. But now she was angry enough to be coming at least part

of the way up, and it sounded as if she was driving Circe before

her.

"You impudent, dishonest child!" they heard her say. "Cook

tells me she has missed things repeatedly."

"It wasn't me, ma'am," said Circe, sobbing. "I was hungry enough,

but it wasn't me-never!"

"You deserve to be sent to prison," said Miss Black's voice.

"Picking and stealing! Half a meat pie, indeed!"

"It wasn't me," wept Circe. "I could have eaten a whole one-but I

never laid a finger on it."

Miss Black was out of breath between temper and mounting the

stairs. The meat pie had been intended for her special late

supper. It became apparent that she boxed Circe's ears.

"Don't tell falsehoods," she said. "Go to your room this instant."

Both Callisto and Millicent heard the slap, and then heard Circe run

in her slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic. They

heard her door shut, and knew that she threw herself upon her

bed.

"I could have eaten two of them," they heard her cry into her

pillow. "And I never took a bite. It was cook who gave it to her

policeman."

Callisto stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. She was

clenching her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely her

outstretched hands. She could scarcely stand still, but she

dared not move until Miss Black had gone down the stairs and

all was still.

"The wicked, cruel thing!" she burst forth. "The cook takes

things herself and then says Circe steals them. She DOESN'T!

She DOESN'T! She's so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts out

of the ash barrel!" She pressed her hands hard against her face

and burst into passionate little sobs, and Millicent, hearing

this unusual thing, was overawed by it. Callisto was crying! The

unconquerable Callisto! It seemed to denote something new-some mood

she had never known. Suppose-suppose-a new dread possibility

presented itself to her kind, slow, little mind all at once. She

crept off the bed in the dark and found her way to the table

where the candle stood. She struck a match and lit the candle.

When she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Callisto,

with her new thought growing to definite fear in her eyes.

"Callie," she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, "are-are-

-you never told me-I don't want to be rude, but-are YOU ever

hungry?"

It was too much just at that moment. The barrier broke down.

Callisto lifted her face from her hands.

"Yes," she said in a new passionate way. "Yes, I am. I'm so

hungry now that I could almost eat you. And it makes it worse to

hear poor Circe. She's hungrier than I am."

Millicent gasped.

"Oh, oh!" she cried woefully. "And I never knew!"

"I didn't want you to know," Callisto said. "It would have made me

feel like a street beggar. I know I look like a street beggar."

"No, you don't-you don't!" Millicent broke in. "Your clothes

are a little queer-but you couldn't look like a street beggar.

You haven't a street-beggar face."

"A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity," said Callisto,

with a short little laugh in spite of herself. "Here it is."

And she pulled out the thin ribbon from her neck. "He wouldn't

have given me his Christmas sixpence if I hadn't looked as if I

needed it."

Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both

of them. It made them laugh a little, though they both had

tears in their eyes.

"Who was he?" asked Millicent, looking at it quite as if it had

not been a mere ordinary silver sixpence.

"He was a darling little thing going to a party," said Callisto. "He

was one of the Large Family, the little one with the blond hair-

the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammed

with Christmas presents and hampers full of cakes and things,

and he could see I had nothing."

Millicent gave a little jump backward. The last sentences had

recalled something to her troubled mind and given her a sudden

inspiration.

"Oh, Callie!" she cried. "What a silly thing I am not to have

thought of it!"

"Of what?"

"Something splendid!" said Millicent, in an excited hurry.

"This very afternoon my nicest aunt sent me a box. It is full

of good things. I never touched it, I had so much pudding at

dinner, and I was so bothered about papa's books." Her words

began to tumble over each other. "It's got cake in it, and

little meat pies, and jam tarts and buns, and oranges and red-

currant wine, and figs and chocolate. I'll creep back to my room

and get it this minute, and we'll eat it now."

Callisto almost reeled. When one is faint with hunger the mention

of food has sometimes a curious effect. She clutched

Millicent's arm.

"Do you think-you COULD?" she ejaculated.

"I know I could," answered Millicent, and she ran to the door-

opened it softly-put her head out into the darkness, and

listened. Then she went back to Callisto. "The lights are out.

Everybody's in bed. I can creep-and creep-and no one will

hear."

It was so delightful that they caught each other's hands and a

sudden light sprang into Callisto's eyes.

"Millie!" she said. "Let us PRETEND! Let us pretend it's a

party! And oh, won't you invite the prisoner in the next cell?"

"Yes! Yes! Let us knock on the wall now. The jailer won't

hear."

Callisto went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor Circe

crying more softly. She knocked four times.

"That means, `Come to me through the secret passage under the

wall,' she explained. `I have something to communicate.'"

Five quick knocks answered her.

"She is coming," she said.

Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and Circe

appeared. Her eyes were red and her cap was sliding off, and

when she caught sight of Millicent she began to rub her face

nervously with her apron.

"Don't mind me a bit, Circe!" cried Millicent.

"Miss Millicent has asked you to come in," said Callisto, "because

she is going to bring a box of good things up here to us."

Circe's cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with such

excitement.

"To eat, miss?" she said. "Things that are good to eat?"

"Yes," answered Callisto, "and we are going to pretend a party."

"And you shall have as much as you WANT to eat," put in

Millicent. "I'll go this minute!"

She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic she

dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No one

saw it for a minute or so. Circe was too much overpowered by the

good luck which had befallen her.

"Oh, miss! oh, miss!" she gasped; "I know it was you that asked

her to let me come. It-it makes me cry to think of it." And

she went to Callisto's side and stood and looked at her worshipingly.

But in Callisto's hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and

transform her world for her. Here in the attic-with the cold

night outside- with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely

passed-with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar

child's eyes not yet faded-this simple, cheerful thing had

happened like a thing of magic.

She caught her breath.

"Somehow, something always happens," she cried, "just before

things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If

I could only just remember that always. The worst thing never

QUITE comes."

She gave Circe a little cheerful shake.

"No, no! You mustn't cry!" she said. "We must make haste and

set the table."

"Set the table, miss?" said Circe, gazing round the room.

"What'll we set it with?"

Callisto looked round the attic, too.

"There doesn't seem to be much," she answered, half laughing.

That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It was

Millicent's red shawl which lay upon the floor.

"Here's the shawl," she cried. "I know she won't mind it. It

will make such a nice red tablecloth."

They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it.

Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable color. It began to

make the room look furnished directly.

"How nice a red rug would look on the floor!" exclaimed Callisto

"We must pretend there is one!"

Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration.

The rug was laid down already.

"How soft and thick it is!" she said, with the little laugh which

Circe knew the meaning of; and she raised and set her foot down

again delicately, as if she felt something under it.

"Yes, miss," answered Circe, watching her with serious rapture.

She was always quite serious.

"What next, now?" said Callisto, and she stood still and put her

hands over her eyes. "Something will come if I think and wait a

little"-in a soft, expectant voice. "The Magic will tell me."

One of her favorite fancies was that on "the outside," as she

called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Circe

had seen her stand and wait many a time before, and knew that in

a few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face.

In a moment she did.

"There!" she cried. "It has come! I know now! I must look

among the things in the old trunk I had when I was a princess."

She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been put in

the attic for her benefit, but because there was no room for it

elsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish. But she

knew she should find something. The Magic always arranged that

kind of thing in one way or another.

In a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that it had

been overlooked, and when she herself had found it she had kept

it as a relic. It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs.

She seized them joyfully and ran to the table. She began to

arrange them upon the red table-cover, patting and coaxing them

into shape with the narrow lace edge curling outward, her Magic

working its spells for her as she did it.

"These are the plates," she said. "They are golden plates.

These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nuns worked them in

convents in Spain."

"Did they, miss?" breathed Circe, her very soul uplifted by the

information.

"You must pretend it," said Callisto. "If you pretend it enough, you

will see them."

"Yes, miss," said Circe; and as Callisto returned to the trunk she

devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to

be desired.

Callisto turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking

very queer indeed. She had shut her eyes, and was twisting her

face in strange convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stiffly

clenched at her sides. She looked as if she was trying to lift

some enormous weight.

"What is the matter, Circe?" she cried. "What are you doing?"

Circe opened her eyes with a start.

"I was pretending, miss," she answered a little sheepishly; "I

was trying to see it like you do. I almost did," with a hopeful

grin. "But it takes a lot of strength."

"Perhaps it does if you are not used to it," said Callisto, with

friendly sympathy; "but you don't know how easy it is when you've

done it often. I wouldn't try so hard just at first. It will

come to you after a while. I'll just tell you what things are.

Look at these."

She held an old summer hat in her hand which she had fished out

of the bottom of the trunk. There was a wreath of flowers on

it. She pulled the wreath off.

"These are garlands for the feast," she said grandly. "They

fill all the air with perfume. There's a mug on the wash-stand,

Circe. Oh-and bring the soap dish for a centerpiece."

Circe handed them to her reverently.

"What are they now, miss?" she inquired. "You'd think they was

made of crockery-but I know they aren't."

"This is a carven flagon," said Callisto, arranging tendrils of the

wreath about the mug. "And this"-bending tenderly over the soap

dish and heaping it with roses-"is purest alabaster encrusted

with gems."

She touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering about her

lips which made her look as if she were a creature in a dream.

"My, isn't it lovely!" whispered Circe.

"If we just had something for bonbon dishes," Callisto murmured.

"There!"-darting to the trunk again. "I remember I saw

something this minute."

It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue

paper, but the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of

little dishes, and was combined with the remaining flowers to

ornament the candlestick which was to light the feast. Only the

Magic could have made it more than an old table covered with a

red shawl and set with rubbish from a long-unopened trunk. But

Callisto drew back and gazed at it, seeing wonders; and Circe, after

staring in delight, spoke with bated breath.

"This here," she suggested, with a glance round the attic-"is

it the Bastille now-or has it turned into something different?"

"Oh, yes, yes!" said Callisto. "Quite different. It is a banquet

hall!"

"My word, miss!" ejaculated Circe. "A banquet hall!" and she

turned to view the splendors about her with awed bewilderment.

"A banquet hall," said Callisto. "A vast chamber where feasts are

given. It has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels' gallery, and a

huge chimney filled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliant

with waxen tapers twinkling on every side."

"My word, Miss Callie!" gasped Circe again.

Then the door opened, and Millicent came in, rather staggering

under the weight of her hamper. She started back with an

exclamation of joy. To enter from the chill darkness outside,

and find one's self confronted by a totally unanticipated festal

board, draped with red, adorned with white napery, and wreathed

with flowers, was to feel that the preparations were brilliant

indeed.

"Oh, Callie!" she cried out. "You are the cleverest girl I ever

saw!"

"Isn't it nice?" said Callisto. "They are things out of my old

trunk. I asked my Magic, and it told me to go and look."

"But oh, miss," cried Circe, "wait till she's told you what they

are! They aren't just-oh, miss, please tell her," appealing to

Callisto.

So Callisto told her, and because her Magic helped her she made her

ALMOST see it all: the golden platters-the vaulted spaces-the

blazing logs-the twinkling waxen tapers. As the things were

taken out of the hamper-the frosted cakes-the fruits-the

bonbons and the wine-the feast became a splendid thing.

"It's like a real party!" cried Millicent.

"It's like a queen's table," sighed Circe.

Then Millicent had a sudden brilliant thought.

"I'll tell you what, Callie," she said. "Pretend you are a

princess now and this is a royal feast."

"But it's your feast," said Caliisto; "you must be the princess, and

Circe and I will be your maids of honor."

"Oh, I can't," said Millicent. "I'm too fat, and I don't know

how. YOU be her."

"Well, if you want me to," said Callisto.

But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty

grate.

"There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!" she

exclaimed. "If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for a

few minutes, and we shall feel as if it was a real fire." She

struck a match and lighted it up with a great specious glow which

illuminated the room.

"By the time it stops blazing," Callisto said, "we shall forget

about its not being real."

She stood in the dancing glow and smiled.

"Doesn't it LOOK real?" she said. "Now we will begin the

party."

She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously to

Millicent and Circe. She was in the midst of her dream.

"Advance, fair damsels," she said in her happy dream-voice, "and

be seated at the banquet table. My noble father, the king, who

is absent on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you." She

turned her head slightly toward the corner of the room. "What,

ho, there, minstrels! Strike up with your viols and bassoons.

Princesses," she explained rapidly to Millicent and Circe,

"always had minstrels to play at their feasts. Pretend there is

a minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will begin."

They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their

hands-not one of them had time to do more, when-they all three

sprang to their feet and turned pale faces toward the door-

listening-listening.

Someone was coming up the stairs. There was no mistake about

it. Each of them recognized the angry, mounting tread and knew

that the end of all things had come.

"It's-the missus!" choked Circe, and dropped her piece of cake

upon the floor.

"Yes," said Callisto, her eyes growing shocked and large in her

small white face. "Miss Black has found us out."

Miss Black struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She

was pale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from the

frightened faces to the banquet table, and from the banquet

table to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate.

"I have been suspecting something of this sort," she exclaimed;

"but I did not dream of such audacity. Ginny was telling the

truth."

So they knew that it was Ginny who had somehow guessed their

secret and had betrayed them. Miss Black strode over to Circe

and boxed her ears for a second time.

"You impudent creature!" she said. "You leave the house in the

morning!"

Callisto stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler.

Millicent burst into tears.

"Oh, don't send her away," she sobbed. "My aunt sent me the

hamper. We're-only-having a party."

"So I see," said Miss Black, witheringly. "With the Princess

Callisto at the head of the table." She turned fiercely on Callisto.

"It is your doing, I know," she cried. "Millicent would never

have thought of such a thing. You decorated the table, I

suppose-with this rubbish." She stamped her foot at Circe.

"Go to your attic!" she commanded, and Circe stole away, her face

hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.

Then it was Callisto's turn again.

"I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have neither

breakfast, dinner, nor supper!"

"I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Black,"

said Callisto, rather faintly.

"Then all the better. You will have something to remember.

Don't stand there. Put those things into the hamper again."

She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself,

and caught sight of Millicent's new books.

"And you"-to Millicent-"have brought your beautiful new books

into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You

will stay there all day tomorrow, and I shall write to your papa.

What would HE say if he knew where you are tonight?"

Something she saw in Callisto's grave, fixed gaze at this moment

made her turn on her fiercely.

"What are you thinking of?" she demanded. "Why do you look at

me like that?"

"I was wondering," answered Callisto, as she had answered that

notable day in the schoolroom.

"What were you wondering?"

It was very like the scene in the schoolroom. There was no

pertness in Callisto's manner. It was only sad and quiet.

"I was wondering," she said in a low voice, "what MY papa would

say if he knew where I am tonight."

Miss Black was infuriated just as she had been before and her

anger expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion.

She flew at her and shook her.

"You insolent, unmanageable child!" she cried. "How dare you!

How dare you!"

She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into

the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Millicent's arms,

and pushed her before her toward the door.

"I will leave you to wonder," she said. "Go to bed this

instant." And she shut the door behind herself and poor

stumbling Millicent, and left standing quite alone.

The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out of

the paper in the grate and left only black tinder; the table was

left bare, the golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, and

the garlands were transformed again into old handkerchiefs,

scraps of red and white paper, and discarded artificial flowers

all scattered on the floor; the minstrels in the minstrel gallery

had stolen away, and the viols and bassoons were still. Pansy

was sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard.

Callisto saw her, and went and picked her up with trembling hands.

"There isn't any banquet left, Pansy," she said. "And there

isn't any princess. There is nothing left but the prisoners in

the Bastille." And she sat down and hid her face.

What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, and

if she had chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrong

moment, I do not know-perhaps the end of this chapter might have

been quite different-because if she had glanced at the skylight

she would certainly have been startled by what she would have

seen. She would have seen exactly the same face pressed against

the glass and peering in at her as it had peered in earlier in

the evening when she had been talking to Millicent.

But she did not look up. She sat with her little black-haired head in

her arms for some time. She always sat like that when she was

trying to bear something in silence. Then she got up and went

slowly to the bed.

"I can't pretend anything else-while I am awake," she said.

"There wouldn't be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps

a dream will come and pretend for me."

She suddenly felt so tired-perhaps through want of food-that

she sat down on the edge of the bed quite weakly.

"Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots of

little dancing flames," she murmured. "Suppose there was a

comfortable chair before it-and suppose there was a small table

near, with a little hot-hot supper on it. And suppose"-as she

drew the thin coverings over her-"suppose this was a beautiful

soft bed, with fleecy blankets and large downy pillows. Suppose-

suppose-" And her very weariness was good to her, for her eyes

closed and she fell fast asleep.

She did not know how long she slept. But she had been tired

enough to sleep deeply and profoundly-too deeply and soundly to

be disturbed by anything, even by the squeaks and scampering of

Melchisedec's entire family, if all his sons and daughters had

chosen to come out of their hole to fight and tumble and play.

When she awakened it was rather suddenly, and she did not know

that any particular thing had called her out of her sleep. The

truth was, however, that it was a sound which had called her

back-a real sound-the click of the skylight as it fell in

closing after a lithe white figure which slipped through it and

crouched down close by upon the slates of the roof-just near

enough to see what happened in the attic, but not near enough to

be seen.

At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and-

curiously enough-too warm and comfortable. She was so warm and

comfortable, indeed, that she did not believe she was really

awake. She never was as warm and cozy as this except in some

lovely vision.

"What a nice dream!" she murmured. "I feel quite warm. I-don't-

-want-to-wake-up."

Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful

bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually FEEL

blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched something

exactly like a satin-covered eider-down quilt. She must not

awaken from this delight-she must be quite still and make it

last.

But she could not-even though she kept her eyes closed tightly,

she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken-something

in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound-the sound of

a crackling, roaring little fire.

"Oh, I am awakening," she said mournfully. "I can't help it-I

can't."

Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually

smiled-for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before,

and knew she never should see.

"Oh, I HAVEN'T awakened," she whispered, daring to rise on her

elbow and look all about her. "I am dreaming yet." She knew it

MUST be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not-

could not be.

Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth?

This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing

fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling;

spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the

fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the

chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white

cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer,

a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered

down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of

quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemed

changed into fairyland-and it was flooded with warm light, for

a bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.

She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short

and fast.

"It does not-melt away," she panted. "Oh, I never had such a

dream before." She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she

pushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a

rapturous smile.

"I am dreaming-I am getting out of bed," she heard her own voice

say; and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning

slowly from side to side-"I am dreaming it stays-real! I'm

dreaming it FEELS real. It's bewitched-or I'm bewitched. I

only THINK I see it all." Her words began to hurry themselves.

"If I can only keep on thinking it," she cried, "I don't care! I

don't care!"

She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again.

"Oh, it isn't true!" she said. "It CAN'T be true! But oh, how

true it seems!"

The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held out

her hands close to it-so close that the heat made her start

back.

"A fire I only dreamed wouldn't be HOT," she cried.

She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went

to the bed and touched the blankets. She took up the soft

wadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and

held it to her cheek.

"It's warm. It's soft!" she almost sobbed. "It's real. It must

be!"

She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the

slippers.

"They are real, too. It's all real!" she cried. "I am NOT-I

am NOT dreaming!"

She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay

upon the top. Something was written on the flyleaf-just a few

words, and they were these:

"To the little girl in the attic. From a friend."

When she saw that-wasn't it a strange thing for her to do- she

put her face down upon the page and burst into tears.

"I don't know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me a

little. I have a friend."

She took her candle and stole out of her own room and into

Circe's, and stood by her bedside.

"Circe, Circe!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. "Wake

up!"

When Circe wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her face

still smudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a little

figure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. The face she

saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The Princess Callisto-as she

remembered her-stood at her very bedside, holding a candle in

her hand.

"Come," she said. "Oh, Circe, come!"

Circe was too astonished to speak. She simply got up and

followed her, with her mouth and eyes open, and without a word.

And when they crossed the threshold, Callisto shut the door gently

and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which made

her brain reel and her hungry senses faint. "It's true! It's

true!" she cried. "I've touched them all. They are as real as

we are. The Magic has come and done it, Circe, while we were

asleep-the Magic that won't let those worst things EVER quite

happen."

**Chapter 16: The Visitor**

Imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. How

they crouched by the fire which blazed and leaped and made so

much of itself in the little grate. How they removed the covers

of the dishes, and found rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal

in itself, and sandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both

of them. The mug from the washstand was used as Circe's tea cup,

and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend

that it was anything but tea. They were warm and full-fed and

happy, and it was just like Callisto that, having found her strange

good fortune real, she should give herself up to the enjoyment of

it to the utmost. She had lived such a life of imaginings that

she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that

happened, and almost to cease, in a short time, to find it

bewildering.

"I don't know anyone in the world who could have done it," she

said; "but there has been someone. And here we are sitting by

their fire-and-and-it's true! And whoever it is-wherever

they are-I have a friend, Circe-someone is my friend."

It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire,

and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of

rapturous awe, and looked into each other's eyes with something

like doubt.

"Do you think," Circe faltered once, in a whisper, "do you think

it could melt away, miss? Hadn't we better be quick?" And she

hastily crammed her sandwich into her mouth. If it was only a

dream, kitchen manners would be overlooked.

"No, it won't melt away," said Callisto. "I am EATING this muffin,

and I can taste it. You never really eat things in dreams. You

only think you are going to eat them. Besides, I keep giving

myself pinches; and I touched a hot piece of coal just now, on

purpose."

The sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered them was a

heavenly thing. It was the drowsiness of happy, well-fed

childhood, and they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it

until Callisto found herself turning to look at her transformed bed.

There were even blankets enough to share with Circe. The narrow

couch in the next attic was more comfortable that night than its

occupant had ever dreamed that it could be.

As she went out of the room, Circe turned upon the threshold and

looked about her with devouring eyes.

"If it isn't here in the morning, miss," she said, "it's been

here tonight, anyway, and I shall never forget it." She looked

at each particular thing, as if to commit it to memory. "The

fire was THERE", pointing with her finger, "and the table was

before it; and the lamp was there, and the light looked rosy red;

and there was a satin cover on your bed, and a warm rug on the

floor, and everything looked beautiful; and"-she paused a

second, and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly-"there WAS

soup and sandwiches and muffins-there WAS." And, with this

conviction a reality at least, she went away.

Through the mysterious agency which works in schools and among

servants, it was quite well known in the morning that Callisto Silver

was in horrible disgrace, that Millicent was under punishment,

and that Circe would have been packed out of the house before

breakfast, but that a scullery maid could not be dispensed with

at once. The servants knew that she was allowed to stay because

Miss Black could not easily find another creature helpless and

humble enough to work like a bounden slave for so few shillings a

week. The elder girls in the schoolroom knew that if Miss

Black did not send Callisto away it was for practical reasons of

her own.

"She's growing so fast and learning such a lot, somehow," said

Hermione to Ginny, "that she will be given classes soon, and Miss

Black knows she will have to work for nothing. It was rather

nasty of you, Gin, to tell about her having fun in the garret.

How did you find it out?"

"I got it out of Astoria. She's such a baby she didn't know she

was telling me. There was nothing nasty at all in speaking to

Miss Black. I felt it my duty"-priggishly. "She was being

deceitful. And it's ridiculous that she should look so grand,

and be made so much of, in her rags and tatters!"

"What were they doing when Miss Black caught them?"

"Pretending some silly thing. Millicent had taken up her

hamper to share with Callisto and Circe. She never invites us to

share things. Not that I care, but it's rather vulgar of her to

share with servant girls in attics. I wonder Miss Black didn't

turn Callisto out-even if she does want her for a teacher."

"If she was turned out where would she go?" inquired Hermione, a

trifle anxiously.

"How do I know?" snapped Ginny. "She'll look rather queer when

she comes into the schoolroom this morning, I should think-

after what's happened. She had no dinner yesterday, and she's

not to have any today."

Hermione was not as ill-natured as she was silly. She picked up

her book with a little jerk.

"Well, I think it's horrid," she said. "They've no right to

starve her to death."

When Callisto went into the kitchen that morning the cook looked

askance at her, and so did the housemaids; but she passed them

hurriedly. She had, in fact, overslept herself a little, and as

Circe had done the same, neither had had time to see the other,

and each had come downstairs in haste.

Callisto went into the scullery. Circe was violently scrubbing a

kettle, and was actually humming a little song in her throat.

She looked up with a elated face.

"It was there when I wakened, miss-the blanket," she whispered

excitedly. "It was as real as it was last night."

"So was mine," said Callisto. "It is all there now-all of it.

While I was dressing I ate some of the cold things we left."

"Oh, laws! Oh, laws!" Circe uttered the exclamation in a sort

of rapturous groan, and ducked her head over her kettle just in

time, as the cook came in from the kitchen.

Miss Black had expected to see in Callisto, when she appeared in

the schoolroom, very much what Ginny had expected to see. Callisto

had always been an annoying puzzle to her, because severity never

made her cry or look frightened. When she was scolded she stood

still and listened politely with a grave face; when she was

punished she performed her extra tasks or went without her

meals, making no complaint or outward sign of rebellion. The

very fact that she never made an impudent answer seemed to Miss

Black a kind of impudence in itself. But after yesterday's

deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, the

prospect of hunger today, she must surely have broken down. It

would be strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale

cheeks and red eyes and an unhappy, humbled face.

Miss Black saw her for the first time when she entered the

schoolroom to hear the little French class recite its lessons and

superintend its exercises. And she came in with a springing

step, color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering about the corners

of her mouth. It was the most astonishing thing Miss Black had

ever known. It gave her quite a shock. What was the child made

of? What could such a thing mean? She called her at once to her

desk.

"You do not look as if you realize that you are in disgrace," she

said. "Are you absolutely hardened?"

The truth is that when one is still a child-or even if one is

grown up-and has been well fed, and has slept long and softly

and warm; when one has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy

story, and has wakened to find it real, one cannot be unhappy or

even look as if one were; and one could not, if one tried, keep a

glow of joy out of one's eyes. Miss Black was almost struck

dumb by the look of Callisto's eyes when she made her perfectly

respectful answer.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Black," she said; "I know that I am in

disgrace."

"Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come

into a fortune. It is an impertinence. And remember you are to

have no food today."

"Yes, Miss Black," Callisto answered; but as she turned away her

heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. "If the

Magic had not saved me just in time," she thought, "how horrible

it would have been!"

"She can't be very hungry," whispered Ginny. "Just look at

her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast"-

with a spiteful laugh.

"She's different from other people," said Hermione, watching Callisto

with her class. "Sometimes I'm a bit frightened of her."

"Ridiculous thing!" ejaculated Ginny.

All through the day the light was in Callisto's face, and the color

in her cheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her, and

whispered to each other, and Miss Andromeda's big dark eyes wore

an expression of bewilderment. What such an audacious look of

well-being, under august displeasure could mean she could not

understand. It was, however, just like Callisto's singular obstinate

way. She was probably determined to brave the matter out.

One thing Callisto had resolved upon, as she thought things over.

The wonders which had happened must be kept a secret, if such a

thing were possible. If Miss Black should choose to mount to

the attic again, of course all would be discovered. But it did

not seem likely that she would do so for some time at least,

unless she was led by suspicion. Millicent and Astoria would be

watched with such strictness that they would not dare to steal

out of their beds again. Millicent could be told the story and

trusted to keep it secret. If Astoria made any discoveries, she

could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the Magic itself would

help to hide its own marvels.

"But whatever happens," Callisto kept saying to herself all day-

"WHATEVER happens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly

kind person who is my friend-my friend. If I never know who it

is-if I never can even thank him-I shall never feel quite so

lonely. Oh, the Magic was GOOD to me!"

If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the

day before, it was worse this day-wetter, muddier, colder.

There were more errands to be done, the cook was more irritable,

and, knowing that Callisto was in disgrace, she was more savage. But

what does anything matter when one's Magic has just proved

itself one's friend. Callisto's supper of the night before had given

her strength, she knew that she should sleep well and warmly,

and, even though she had naturally begun to be hungry again

before evening, she felt that she could bear it until breakfast-

time on the following day, when her meals would surely be given

to her again. It was quite late when she was at last allowed to

go upstairs. She had been told to go into the schoolroom and

study until ten o'clock, and she had become interested in her

work, and remained over her books later.

When she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the

attic door, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather

fast.

"Of course it MIGHT all have been taken away," she whispered,

trying to be brave. "It might only have been lent to me for just

that one awful night. But it WAS lent to me-I had it. It was

real."

She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside, she gasped

slightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it

looking from side to side.

The Magic had been there again. It actually had, and it had

done even more than before. The fire was blazing, in lovely

leaping flames, more merrily than ever. A number of new things

had been brought into the attic which so altered the look of it

that if she had not been past doubting she would have rubbed her

eyes. Upon the low table another supper stood-this time with

cups and plates for Circe as well as herself; a piece of bright,

heavy, strange embroidery covered the battered mantel, and on it

some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which

could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to

look quite pretty. Some odd materials of rich colors had been

fastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks-so sharp that

they could be pressed into the wood and plaster without

hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were

several large cushions, big and substantial enough to use as

seats. A wooden box was covered with a rug, and some cushions

lay on it, so that it wore quite the air of a sofa.

Callisto slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and

looked and looked again.

"It is exactly like something fairy come true," she said. "There

isn't the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for

anything-diamonds or bags of gold-and they would appear! THAT

wouldn't be any stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the

same cold, ragged, damp Callisto? And to think I used to pretend and

pretend and wish there were fairies! The one thing I always

wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am LIVING in a

fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and able to

turn things into anything else."

She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next

cell, and the prisoner came.

When she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor.

For a few seconds she quite lost her breath.

"Oh, laws!" she gasped. "Oh, laws, miss!"

"You see," said Callisto.

On this night Circe sat on a cushion upon the hearth rug and had

a cup and saucer of her own.

When Callisto went to bed she found that she had a new thick

mattress and big downy pillows. Her old mattress and pillow had

been removed to Circe's bedstead, and, consequently, with these

additions Circe had been supplied with unheard-of comfort.

"Where does it all come from?" Circe broke forth once. "Laws,

who does it, miss?"

"Don't let us even ASK," said Callisto. "If it were not that I want

to say, `Oh, thank you,' I would rather not know. It makes it

more beautiful."

From that time life became more wonderful day by day. The fairy

story continued. Almost every day something new was done. Some

new comfort or ornament appeared each time Callisto opened the door

at night, until in a short time the attic was a beautiful little

room full of all sorts of odd and luxurious things. The ugly

walls were gradually entirely covered with pictures and

draperies, ingenious pieces of folding furniture appeared, a

bookshelf was hung up and filled with books, new comforts and

conveniences appeared one by one, until there seemed nothing left

to be desired. When Callisto went downstairs in the morning, the

remains of the supper were on the table; and when she returned to

the attic in the evening, the magician had removed them and left

another nice little meal. Miss Black was as harsh and

insulting as ever, Miss Andromeda as peevish, and the servants were

as vulgar and rude. Callisto was sent on errands in all weathers,

and scolded and driven hither and thither; she was scarcely

allowed to speak to Millicent and Astoria; Ginny sneered at the

increasing shabbiness of her clothes; and the other girls stared

curiously at her when she appeared in the schoolroom. But what

did it all matter while she was living in this wonderful

mysterious story? It was more romantic and delightful than

anything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul

and save herself from despair. Sometimes, when she was scolded,

she could scarcely keep from smiling.

"If you only knew!" she was saying to herself. "If you only

knew!"

The comfort and happiness she enjoyed were making her stronger,

and she had them always to look forward to. If she came home

from her errands wet and tired and hungry, she knew she would

soon be warm and well fed after she had climbed the stairs.

During the hardest day she could occupy herself blissfully by

thinking of what she should see when she opened the attic door,

and wondering what new delight had been prepared for her. In a

very short time she began to look less thin. Color came into her

cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her face.

"Callisto Silver looks wonderfully well," Miss Black remarked

disapprovingly to her sister.

"Yes," answered poor, silly Miss Andromeda. "She is absolutely

fattening. She was beginning to look like a little starved

crow."

"Starved!" exclaimed Miss Black, angrily. "There was no

reason why she should look starved. She always had plenty to

eat!"

"Of-of course," agreed Miss Andromeda, humbly, alarmed to find that

she had, as usual, said the wrong thing.

"There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of

thing in a child of her age," said Miss Black, with haughty

vagueness.

"What-sort of thing?" Miss Andromeda ventured.

"It might almost be called defiance," answered Miss Black,

feeling annoyed because she knew the thing she resented was

nothing like defiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant

term to use. "The spirit and will of any other child would have

been entirely humbled and broken by-by the changes she has had

to submit to. But, upon my word, she seems as little subdued as

if-as if she were a princess."

"Do you remember," put in the unwise Miss Andromeda, "what she said

to you that day in the schoolroom about what you would do if you

found out that she was-"

"No, I don't," said Miss Black. "Don't talk nonsense." But

she remembered very clearly indeed.

Very naturally, even Circe was beginning to look plumper and less

frightened. She could not help it. She had her share in the

secret fairy story, too. She had two mattresses, two pillows,

plenty of bed-covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat

on the cushions by the fire. The Bastille had melted away, the

prisoners no longer existed. Two comforted children sat in the

midst of delights. Sometimes Callisto read aloud from her books,

sometimes she learned her own lessons, sometimes she sat and

looked into the fire and tried to imagine who her friend could

be, and wished she could say to him some of the things in her

heart.

Then it came about that another wonderful thing happened. A man

came to the door and left several parcels. All were addressed in

large letters, "To the Little Girl in the right-hand attic."

Callisto herself was sent to open the door and take them in. She

laid the two largest parcels on the hall table, and was looking

at the address, when Miss Black came down the stairs and saw

her.

"Take the things to the young lady to whom they belong," she said

severely. "Don't stand there staring at them.

"They belong to me," answered Callisto, quietly.

"To you?" exclaimed Miss Black. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know where they come from," said Callisto, "but they are

addressed to me. I sleep in the right-hand attic. Circe has the

other one."

Miss Black came to her side and looked at the parcels with an

excited expression.

"What is in them?" she demanded.

"I don't know," replied Callisto.

"Open them," she ordered.

Callisto did as she was told. When the packages were unfolded Miss

Black's countenance wore suddenly a singular expression. What

she saw was pretty and comfortable clothing-clothing of

different kinds: shoes, stockings, and gloves, and a warm and

beautiful coat. There were even a nice hat and an umbrella.

They were all good and expensive things, and on the pocket of the

coat was pinned a paper, on which were written these words: "To

be worn every day. Will be replaced by others when necessary."

Miss Black was quite agitated. This was an incident which

suggested strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that

she had made a mistake, after all, and that the neglected child

had some powerful though eccentric friend in the background-

perhaps some previously unknown relation, who had suddenly traced

her whereabouts, and chose to provide for her in this mysterious

and fantastic way? Relations were sometimes very odd-

particularly rich old bachelor uncles, who did not care for

having children near them. A man of that sort might prefer to

overlook his young relation's welfare at a distance. Such a

person, however, would be sure to be crotchety and hot-tempered

enough to be easily offended. It would not be very pleasant if

there were such a one, and he should learn all the truth about

the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, and the hard work. She

felt very queer indeed, and very uncertain, and she gave a side

glance at Callisto.

"Well," she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the

little girl lost her father, "someone is very kind to you. As

the things have been sent, and you are to have new ones when

they are worn out, you may as well go and put them on and look

respectable. After you are dressed you may come downstairs and

learn your lessons in the schoolroom. You need not go out on any

more errands today."

About half an hour afterward, when the schoolroom door opened and

Callisto walked in, the entire seminary was struck dumb.

"My word!" ejaculated Hermione, jogging Ginny's elbow. "Look at

the Princess Callisto!"

Everybody was looking, and when Ginny looked she turned quite

red.

It was the Princess Callisto indeed. At least, since the days when

she had been a princess, Callisto had never looked as she did now.

She did not seem the Callisto they had seen come down the back

stairs a few hours ago. She was dressed in the kind of frock

Ginny had been used to envying her the possession of. It was

deep and warm in color, and beautifully made. Her slender feet

looked as they had done when Hermione had admired them, and the

hair, whose heavy locks had made her look rather like a Shetland

pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied back

with a ribbon.

"Perhaps someone has left her a fortune," Hermione whispered. "I

always thought something would happen to her. She's so queer."

"Perhaps the diamond mines have suddenly appeared again," said

Ginny, scathingly. "Don't please her by staring at her in that

way, you silly thing."

"Callisto," broke in Miss Black's deep voice, "come and sit here."

And while the whole schoolroom stared and pushed with elbows, and

scarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity, Callisto

went to her old seat of honor, and bent her head over her books.

That night, when she went to her room, after she and Circe had

eaten their supper she sat and looked at the fire seriously for a

long time.

"Are you making something up in your head, miss?" Circe

inquired with respectful softness. When Callisto sat in silence and

looked into the coals with dreaming eyes it generally meant that

she was making a new story. But this time she was not, and she

shook her head.

"No," she answered. "I am wondering what I ought to do."

Circe stared-still respectfully. She was filled with something

approaching reverence for everything Callisto did and said.

"I can't help thinking about my friend," Callisto explained. "If he

wants to keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find

out who he is. But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to

him-and how happy he has made me. Anyone who is kind wants to

know when people have been made happy. They care for that more

than for being thanked. I wish-I do wish-"

She stopped short because her eyes at that instant fell upon

something standing on a table in a corner. It was something she

had found in the room when she came up to it only two days

before. It was a little writing-case fitted with paper and

envelopes and pens and ink.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "why did I not think of that before?"

She rose and went to the corner and brought the case back to the

fire.

"I can write to him," she said joyfully, "and leave it on the

table. Then perhaps the person who takes the things away will

take it, too. I won't ask him anything. He won't mind my

thanking him, I feel sure."

So she wrote a note. This is what she said:

I hope you will not think it is impolite that I should write

this note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret. Please

believe I do not mean to be impolite or try to find out anything

at all; only I want to thank you for being so kind to me-so

heavenly kind-and making everything like a fairy story. I am

so grateful to you, and I am so happy-and so is Circe. Circe

feels just as thankful as I do-it is all just as beautiful and

wonderful to her as it is to me. We used to be so lonely and

cold and hungry, and now-oh, just think what you have done for

us! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I OUGHT

to say them. THANK you-THANK you-THANK you!

THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.

The next morning she left this on the little table, and in the

evening it had been taken away with the other things; so she

knew the Magician had received it, and she was happier for the

thought. She was reading one of her new books to Circe just

before they went to their respective beds, when her attention was

attracted by a sound at the skylight. When she looked up from

her page she saw that Circe had heard the sound also, as she had

turned her head to look and was listening rather nervously.

"Something's there, miss," she whispered.

"Yes," said Callisto, slowly. "It sounds-rather like a cat-trying

to get in."

She left her chair and went to the skylight. It was a queer

little sound she heard-like a soft scratching. She suddenly

remembered something and laughed. She remembered a quaint little

intruder who had made her way into the attic once before. She

had seen her that very afternoon, sitting disconsolately on a

table before a window in the Indian gentleman's house.

"Suppose," she whispered in pleased excitement-"just suppose it

was the cat who got away again. Oh, I wish it was!"

She climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight, and

peeped out. It had been snowing all day, and on the snow, quite

near her, crouched a tiny, shivering figure, whose small furry

face wrinkled itself piteously at sight of her.

"It is the kitty," she cried out. "She has crept out of the

Lascar's attic, and she saw the light."

Circe ran to her side.

"Are you going to let her in, miss?" she said.

"Yes," Callisto answered joyfully. "It's too cold for cats to be

out. She's too little to stay in this kind of weather. I'll coax her in."

She put a hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing voice-as

she spoke to the sparrows and to Melchisedec-as if she were some

friendly little animal herself.

"Come along, kitty darling," she said. "I won't hurt you."

The cat knew Callisto would not hurt her. She knew it before she laid her

soft, caressing little hand on her and drew her towards her. She

had felt human love in the slim brown hands of Argus, and she

felt it in hers. She let her lift her through the skylight, and

when she found herself in her arms he cuddled up to her breast and

looked up into her face.

"Nice kitty! Nice kitty!" she crooned, kissing her furry

head. "Oh, I do love little animal things."

She was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down

and held her on her knee she looked from her to Circe with

mingled interest and appreciation.

"She IS a darling, miss, isn't she?" said Circe.

"She's gorgeous. And her fur is ever so warm and soft," laughed Callisto. "Your mother

COULDN'T be prouder of you, could she, darling? Oh, I do like you!"

She leaned back in her chair and reflected.

"Perhaps she's sorry she had to leave her mamma," she said, "and it's always on

her mind. Iwonder if she HAS a mind. Kitty, my love, have you

a mind?"

But the kitty only put up a tiny paw and batted at Callisto's hair.

"What shall you do with her?" Circe asked.

"I shall let her sleep with me tonight, and then take her back

to the Indian gentleman tomorrow. I am sorry to take you back,

kitty; but you must go. You ought to be fondest of your own

family; and I'm not a REAL relation."

And when she went to bed she made her a nest at her feet, and she

curled up and slept there as if she were a baby and much pleased

with her quarters.

**Chapter 17: "It Is the Child!"**

The next afternoon three members of the Large Family sat in the

Indian gentleman's library, doing their best to cheer him up.

They had been allowed to come in to perform this office because

he had specially invited them. He had been living in a state of

suspense for some time, and today he was waiting for a certain

event very anxiously. This event was the return of Mr.

Malfoy from Moscow. His stay there had been prolonged from

week to week. On his first arrival there, he had not been able

satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in search of.

When he felt at last sure that he had found them and had gone to

their house, he had been told that they were absent on a journey.

His efforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided

to remain in Moscow until their return. Mr. Sanpe sat in

his reclining chair, and Nymphadora sat on the floor beside him. He

was very fond of Nymphadora. Daphne had found a footstool, and Draco

was poking the tiger's head which ornamented the rug made of the

animal's skin.

.

"Do be careful, Draco," Nymphadora said. "When you come to

cheer an ill person up you don't cheer him up at the top of your

voice. Perhaps cheering up is too loud, Mr. Snape?" turning

to the Indian gentleman.

But he only patted her shoulder.

"No, it isn't," he answered. "And it keeps me from thinking too

much."

"I'm going to be quiet," Draco shouted. "We'll all be as quiet

as mice."

"Mice don't make a noise like that," said Nymphadora.

"A whole lot of mice might," he said cheerfully. "A thousand

mice might."

"I don't believe fifty thousand mice would," said Nymphadora,

severely; "and we have to be as quiet as one mouse."

Mr. Snape laughed and patted her shoulder again.

"Papa won't be very long now," she said. "May we talk about the

lost little girl?"

"I don't think I could talk much about anything else just now,"

the Indian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a

tired look.

"We like her so much," said Daphne. "We call her the little un-

fairy princess."

"Why?" the Indian gentleman inquired, because the fancies of the

Large Family always made him forget things a little.

It was Nymphadora who answered.

"It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be

so rich when she is found that she will be like a princess in a

fairy tale. We called her the fairy princess at first, but it

didn't quite suit."

"Is it true," said Daphne, "that her papa gave all his money to a

friend to put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then the

friend thought he had lost it all and ran away because he felt as

if he was a robber?"

"But he wasn't really, you know," put in Nymphadora, hastily.

The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly.

"No, he wasn't really," he said.

"I am sorry for the friend," Nymphadora said; "I can't help it. He

didn't mean to do it, and it would break his heart. I am sure it

would break his heart."

"You are an understanding little woman, Nymphadora," the Indian

gentleman said, and he held her hand close.

"Did you tell Mr. Snape," Draco shouted again, "about the

little-girl-who-isn't-a-beggar? Did you tell him she has new

nice clothes? Perhaps she's been found by somebody when she was

lost."

"There's a cab!" exclaimed Nymphadora. "It's stopping before the

door. It is papa!"

They all ran to the windows to look out.

"Yes, it's papa," Draco proclaimed. "But there is no little

girl."

All three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled

into the hall. It was in this way they always welcomed their

father. They were to be heard jumping up and down, clapping

their hands, and being caught up and kissed.

Mr. Snape made an effort to rise and sank back again.

"It is no use," he said. "What a wreck I am!"

Mr. Malfoy's voice approached the door.

"No, children," he was saying; "you may come in after I have

talked to Mr. Snape. Go and play with Argus."

Then the door opened and he came in. He looked rosier than

ever, and brought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him;

but his eyes were disappointed and anxious as they met the

invalid's look of eager question even as they grasped each

other's hands.

"What news?" Mr. Snape asked. "The child the Russian

people adopted?"

"She is not the child we are looking for," was Mr. Malfoy's

answer. "She is much younger than Captain Silver's little girl.

Her name is Diana Silvier. I have seen and talked to her. The

Russians were able to give me every detail."

How wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked! His hand

dropped from Mr. Malfoy's.

"Then the search has to be begun over again," he said. "That is

all. Please sit down."

Mr. Malfoy took a seat. Somehow, he had gradually grown

fond of this unhappy man. He was himself so well and happy, and

so surrounded by cheerfulness and love, that desolation and

broken health seemed pitifully unbearable things. If there had

been the sound of just one gay little high-pitched voice in the

house, it would have been so much less forlorn. And that a man

should be compelled to carry about in his breast the thought that

he had seemed to wrong and desert a child was not a thing one

could face.

"Come, come," he said in his cheery voice; "we'll find her yet."

"We must begin at once. No time must be lost," Mr. Snape

fretted. "Have you any new suggestion to make-any whatsoever?"

Mr. Malfoy felt rather restless, and he rose and began to

pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face.

"Well, perhaps," he said. "I don't know what it may be worth.

The fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing

over in the train on the journey from Dover."

"What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere."

"Yes; she is SOMEWHERE. We have searched the schools in Paris.

Let us give up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea-to

search London."

"There are schools enough in London," said Mr. Snape. Then

he slightly started, roused by a recollection. "By the way,

there is one next door."

"Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next

door."

"No," said Severus. "There is a child there who interests

me; but she is not a pupil. And she is a little dark, forlorn

creature, as unlike poor Christ as a child could be."

Perhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment-the

beautiful Magic. It really seemed as if it might be so. What

was it that brought Argus into the room-even as his master

spoke-salaaming respectfully, but with a scarcely concealed

touch of excitement in his dark, flashing eyes?

"Sahib," he said, "the child herself has come-the child the

sahib felt pity for. She brings back the cat who had again

run away to her attic under the roof. I have asked that she

remain. It was my thought that it would please the sahib to

see and speak with her."

"Who is she?" inquired Mr. Malfoy.

"God knows," Mr. Snape answered. "She is the child I spoke

of. A little drudge at the school." He waved his hand to Argus,

and addressed him. "Yes, I should like to see her. Go and

bring her in." Then he turned to Mr. Malfoy. "While you

have been away," he explained, "I have been desperate. The days

were so dark and long. Argus told me of this child's miseries,

and together we invented a romantic plan to help her. I suppose

it was a childish thing to do; but it gave me something to plan

and think of. Without the help of an agile, soft-footed Oriental

like Argus, however, it could not have been done."

Then Callisto came into the room. She carried the cat in her

arms, and she evidently did not intend to part from her, if it

could be helped. She was cuddling up to her and purring, and the

interesting excitement of finding herself in the Indian

gentleman's room had brought a flush to Callisto's cheeks.

"Your cat ran away again," she said, in her pretty voice. "She

came to my garret window last night, and I took her in because it

was so cold. I would have brought her back if it had not been so

late. I knew you were ill and might not like to be disturbed."

The Indian gentleman's hollow eyes dwelt on her with curious

interest.

"That was very thoughtful of you," he said.

Callisto looked toward Argus, who stood near the door.

"Shall I give him to the Lascar?" she asked.

"How do you know he is a Lascar?" said the Indian gentleman,

smiling a little.

"Oh, I know Lascars," Callisto said, handing over the reluctant

cat. "I was born in India."

The Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly, and with such a

change of expression, that she was for a moment quite startled.

"You were born in India," he exclaimed, "were you? Come here."

And he held out his hand.

Callisto went to him and laid her hand in his, as he seemed to want

to take it. She stood still, and her blue-gray eyes met his

wonderingly. Something seemed to be the matter with him.

"You live next door?" he demanded.

"Yes; I live at Miss Black's seminary."

"But you are not one of her pupils?"

A strange little smile hovered about Callisto's mouth. She hesitated

a moment.

"I don't think I know exactly WHAT I am," she replied.

"Why not?"

"At first I was a pupil, and a parlor boarder; but now-"

"You were a pupil! What are you now?"

The queer little sad smile was on Callisto's lips again.

"I sleep in the attic, next to the scullery maid," she said. "I

run errands for the cook-I do anything she tells me; and I

teach the little ones their lessons."

"Question her, Lucius," said Mr. Snape, sinking back as

if he had lost his strength. "Question her; I cannot."

The tall, kind father of the Large Family knew how to question

little girls. Callisto realized how much practice he had had when

he spoke to her in his nice, encouraging voice.

"What do you mean by `At first,' my child?" he inquired.

"When I was first taken there by my papa."

"Where is your papa?"

"He died," said Callisto, very quietly. "He lost all his money and

there was none left for me. There was no one to take care of me

or to pay Miss Black."

"Lucius!" the Indian gentleman cried out loudly.

"Lucius!"

"We must not frighten her," Mr. Malfoy said aside to him in a

quick, low voice. And he added aloud to Callisto, "So you were sent

up into the attic, and made into a little drudge. That was about

it, wasn't it?"

"There was no one to take care of me," said Callisto. "There was no

money; I belong to nobody."

"How did your father lose his money?" the Indian gentleman broke

in breathlessly.

"He did not lose it himself," Callisto answered, wondering still more

each moment. "He had a friend he was very fond of-he was very

fond of was his friend who took his money. He trusted

his friend too much."

The Indian gentleman's breath came more quickly.

"The friend might have MEANT to do no harm," he said. "It might

have happened through a mistake."

Callisto did not know how unrelenting her quiet young voice sounded

as she answered. If she had known, she would surely have tried

to soften it for the Indian gentleman's sake.

"The suffering was just as bad for my papa," she said. "It

killed him."

"What was your father's name?" the Indian gentleman said. "Tell

me."

"His name was Christ Silver," Callisto answered, feeling startled.

"Captain Silver. He died in India."

The haggard face contracted, and Argus sprang to his master's

side.

"Lucius," the invalid gasped, "it is the child-the child!"

For a moment Callisto thought he was going to die. Argus poured

out drops from a bottle, and held them to his lips. Callisto stood

near, trembling a little. She looked in a bewildered way at Mr.

Malfoy.

"What child am I?" she faltered.

"He was your father's friend," Mr. Malfoy answered her.

"Don't be frightened. We have been looking for you for two

years."

Callisto put her hand up to her forehead, and her voice trembled.

She spoke as if she were in a dream.

"And I was at Miss Black's all the while," she half whispered.

"Just on the other side of the wall."

**Chapter 18: "I Tried Not to Be"**

It was pretty, comfortable Mrs. Malfoy who explained

everything. She was sent for at once, and came across the square

to take Sara into her warm arms and make clear to her all that

had happened. The excitement of the totally unexpected discovery

had been temporarily almost overpowering to Mr. Snape in his

weak condition.

"Upon my word," he said faintly to Mr. Malfoy, when it was

suggested that the little girl should go into another room. "I

feel as if I do not want to lose sight of her."

"I will take care of her," Nymphadora said, "and mamma will come in a

few minutes." And it was Nymphadora who led her away.

"We're so glad you are found," she said. "You don't know how

glad we are that you are found."

Draco stood with his hands in his pockets, and gazed at Callisto

with reflecting and self-reproachful eyes.

"If I'd just asked what your name was when I gave you my

sixpence," he said, "you would have told me it was Callisto Silver,

and then you would have been found in a minute." Then Mrs.

Malfoy came in. She looked very much moved, and suddenly

took Callisto in her arms and kissed her.

"You look bewildered, poor child," she said. "And it is not to

be wondered at."

Callisto could only think of one thing.

"Was he," she said, with a glance toward the closed door of the

library- "was HE the wicked friend? Oh, do tell me!"

Mrs. Malfoy was crying as she kissed her again. She felt as

if she ought to be kissed very often because she had not been

kissed for so long.

"He was not wicked, my dear," she answered. "He did not really

lose your papa's money. He only thought he had lost it; and

because he loved him so much his grief made him so ill that for a

time he was not in his right mind. He almost died of brain

fever, and long before he began to recover your poor papa was

dead."

"And he did not know where to find me," murmured Callisto. "And I

was so near." Somehow, she could not forget that she had been so

near.

"He believed you were in school in France," Mrs. Malfoy

explained. "And he was continually misled by false clues. He

has looked for you everywhere. When he saw you pass by, looking

so sad and neglected, he did not dream that you were his friend's

poor child; but because you were a little girl, too, he was sorry

for you, and wanted to make you happier. And he told Argus to

climb into your attic window and try to make you comfortable."

Callisto gave a start of joy; her whole look changed.

"Did Argus bring the things?" she cried out. "Did he tell

Argus to do it? Did he make the dream that came true?"

"Yes, my dear-yes! He is kind and good, and he was sorry for

you, for little lost Callisto Silver's sake."

The library door opened and Mr. Malfoy appeared, calling

Callisto to him with a gesture.

"Mr. Snape is better already," he said. "He wants you to

come to him."

Callisto did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked at her as

she entered, he saw that her face was all alight.

She went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped

together against her breast.

"You sent the things to me," she said, in a joyful emotional

little voice, "the beautiful, beautiful things? YOU sent them!"

"Yes, poor, dear child, I did," he answered her. He was weak

and broken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her

with the look she remembered in her father's eyes-that look of

loving her and wanting to take her in his arms. It made her

kneel down by him, just as she used to kneel by her father when

they were the dearest friends and lovers in the world.

"Then it is you who are my friend," she said; "it is you who are

my friend!" And she dropped her face on his thin hand and

kissed it again and again.

"The man will be himself again in three weeks," Mr. Malfoy

said aside to his wife. "Look at his face already."

In fact, he did look changed. Here was the "Little Missus," and

he had new things to think of and plan for already. In the first

place, there was Miss Black. She must be interviewed and told

of the change which had taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.

Callisto was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian

gentleman was very determined upon that point. She must remain

where she was, and Mr. Malfoy should go and see Miss Black

himself.

"I am glad I need not go back," said Callisto. "She will be very

angry. She does not like me; though perhaps it is my fault,

because I do not like her."

But, oddly enough, Miss Black made it unnecessary for Mr.

Malfoy to go to her, by actually coming in search of her

pupil herself. She had wanted Callisto for something, and on inquiry

had heard an astonishing thing. One of the housemaids had seen

her steal out of the area with something hidden under her cloak,

and had also seen her go up the steps of the next door and enter

the house.

"What does she mean!" cried Miss Black to Miss Andromeda.

"I don't know, I'm sure, sister," answered Miss Andromeda. "Unless

she has made friends with him because he has lived in India."

"It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and try to

gain his sympathies in some such impertinent fashion," said Miss

Black. "She must have been in the house for two hours. I will

not allow such presumption. I shall go and inquire into the

matter, and apologize for her intrusion."

Sara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Snape's knee,

and listening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to

try to explain to her, when Argus announced the visitor's

arrival.

Callisto rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr.

Snape saw that she stood quietly, and showed none of the

ordinary signs of child terror.

Miss Black entered the room with a sternly dignified manner.

She was correctly and well dressed, and rigidly polite.

"I am sorry to disturb Mr. Snape," she said; "but I have

explanations to make. I am Miss Black, the proprietress of the

Young Ladies' Seminary next door."

The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent

scrutiny. He was a man who had naturally a rather hot temper,

and he did not wish it to get too much the better of him.

"So you are Miss Black?" he said.

"I am, sir."

"In that case," the Indian gentleman replied, "you have arrived

at the right time. My solicitor, Mr. Malfoy, was just on the

point of going to see you."

Mr. Malfoy bowed slightly, and Miss Black looked from him

to Mr. Snape in amazement.

"Your solicitor!" she said. "I do not understand. I have come

here as a matter of duty. I have just discovered that you have

been intruded upon through the forwardness of one of my pupils-a

charity pupil. I came to explain that she intruded without my

knowledge." She turned upon Callisto. "Go home at once," she

commanded indignantly. "You shall be severely punished. Go home

at once."

The Indian gentleman drew Callisto to his side and patted her hand.

"She is not going."

Miss Black felt rather as if she must be losing her senses.

"Not going!" she repeated.

"No," said Mr. Snape. "She is not going home-if you give

your house that name. Her home for the future will be with me."

Miss Black fell back in amazed indignation.

"With YOU! With YOU sir! What does this mean?"

"Kindly explain the matter, Lucius," said the Indian

gentleman; "and get it over as quickly as possible." And he made

Callisto sit down again, and held her hands in his-which was another

trick of her papa's.

Then Mr. Malfoy explained-in the quiet, level-toned, steady

manner of a man who knew his subject, and all its legal

significance, which was a thing Miss Black understood as a

businesswoman, and did not enjoy.

"Mr. Snape, madam," he said, "was an intimate friend of the

late Captain Silver. He was his partner in certain large

investments. The fortune which Captain Silver supposed he had

lost has been recovered, and is now in Mr. Snape's hands."

"The fortune!" cried Miss Black; and she really lost color as

she uttered the exclamation. "Callisto's fortune!"

"It WILL be Callisto's fortune," replied Mr. Malfoy, rather

coldly. "It is Calisto's fortune now, in fact. Certain events have

increased it enormously. The diamond mines have retrieved

themselves."

"The diamond mines!" Miss Black gasped out. If this was

true, nothing so horrible, she felt, had ever happened to her

since she was born.

"The diamond mines," Mr. Malfoy repeated, and he could not

help adding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile, "There are

not many princesses, Miss Black, who are richer than your

little charity pupil, Callisto Silver, will be. Mr. Snape has

been searching for her for nearly two years; he has found her at

last, and he will keep her."

After which he asked Miss Black to sit down while he explained

matters to her fully, and went into such detail as was necessary

to make it quite clear to her that Callisto's future was an assured

one, and that what had seemed to be lost was to be restored to

her tenfold; also, that she had in Mr. Snape a guardian as

well as a friend.

Miss Black was quite lost her head at this, and in her excitement she

was silly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what she

could not help seeing she had lost through her worldly folly.

"He found her under my care," she protested. "I have done

everything for her. But for me she should have starved in the

streets."

Here the Indian gentleman lost his temper.

"As to starving in the streets," he said, "she might have

starved more comfortably there than in your attic."

"Captain Silver left her in my charge," Miss Black argued. "She

must return to it until she is of age. She can be a parlor

boarder again. She must finish her education. The law will

interfere in my behalf"

"Come, come, Miss Black," Mr. Malfoy interposed, "the law

will do nothing of the sort. If Callisto herself wishes to return to

you, I dare say Mr. Snape might not refuse to allow it. But

that rests with Callisto."

"Then," said Miss Black, "I appeal to Callisto. I have not spoiled

you, perhaps," she said awkwardly to the little girl; "but you

know that your papa was pleased with your progress. And-ahem-I

have always been fond of you."

Callisto's blue-gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the quiet,

clear look Miss Black particularly disliked.

"Have YOU, Miss Black?" she said. "I did not know that."

Miss Black reddened and drew herself up.

"You ought to have known it," said she; "but children,

unfortunately, never know what is best for them. Andromeda and I

always said you were the cleverest child in the school. Will you

not do your duty to your poor papa and come home with me?"

Sara took a step toward her and stood still. She was thinking of

the day when she had been told that she belonged to nobody, and

was in danger of being turned into the street; she was thinking

of the cold, hungry hours she had spent alone with Pansy and

Melchisedec in the attic. She looked Miss Black steadily in

the face.

"You know why I will not go home with you, Miss Black," she

said; "you know quite well."

A hot flush showed itself on Miss Black's hard, angry face.

"You will never see your companions again," she began. "I will

see that Millicent and Astoria are kept away-"

Mr. Malfoy stopped her with polite firmness.

"Excuse me," he said; "she will see anyone she wishes to see.

The parents of Miss Silver's fellow-pupils are not likely to

refuse her invitations to visit her at her guardian's house. Mr.

Sanpe will attend to that."

It must be confessed that even Miss Black flinched. This was

worse than the eccentric bachelor uncle who might have a peppery

temper and be easily offended at the treatment of his niece. A

woman of sordid mind could easily believe that most people would

not refuse to allow their children to remain friends with a

little heiress of diamond mines. And if Mr. Snape chose to

tell certain of her patrons how unhappy Callisto Silver had been made,

many unpleasant things might happen.

"You have not undertaken an easy charge," she said to the Indian

gentleman, as she turned to leave the room; "you will discover

that very soon. The child is neither truthful nor grateful. I

suppose"-to Callisto-"that you feel now that you are a princess

again."

Callisto looked down and flushed a little, because she thought her

pet fancy might not be easy for strangers-even nice ones-to

understand at first.

"I-TRIED not to be anything else," she answered in a low voice-

"even when I was coldest and hungriest-I tried not to be."

"Now it will not be necessary to try," said Miss Black,

acidly, as Argus salaamed her out of the room.

She returned home and, going to her sitting room, sent at once

for Miss Andromeda. She sat closeted with her all the rest of the

afternoon, and it must be admitted that poor Miss Andromeda passed

through more than one bad quarter of an hour. She shed a good

many tears, and mopped her eyes a good deal. One of her

unfortunate remarks almost caused her sister to snap her head

entirely off, but it resulted in an unusual manner.

"I'm not as clever as you, sister," she said, "and I am always

afraid to say things to you for fear of making you angry.

Perhaps if I were not so timid it would be better for the school

and for both of us. I must say I've often thought it would have

been better if you had been less severe on Callisto Silver, and had

seen that she was decently dressed and more comfortable. I KNOW

she was worked too hard for a child of her age, and I know she

was only half fed-"

"How dare you say such a thing!" exclaimed Miss Black.

"I don't know how I dare," Miss Andromeda answered, with a kind of

reckless courage; "but now I've begun I may as well finish,

whatever happens to me. The child was a clever child and a good

child-and she would have paid you for any kindness you had

shown her. But you didn't show her any. The fact was, she was

too clever for you, and you always disliked her for that reason.

She used to see through us both-"

"Andromeda!" gasped her infuriated elder, looking as if she would

box her ears and knock her cap off, as she had often done to

Circe.

But Miss Andromeda's disappointment had made her hysterical enough

not to care what occurred next.

"She did! She did!" she cried. "She saw through us both. She

saw that you were a hard-hearted, worldly woman, and that I was a

weak fool, and that we were both of us vulgar and mean enough to

grovel on our knees for her money, and behave ill to her because

it was taken from her-though she behaved herself like a little

princess even when she was a beggar. She did-she did-like a

little princess!" And her hysterics got the better of the poor

woman, and she began to laugh and cry both at once, and rock

herself backward and forward.

"And now you've lost her," she cried wildly; "and some other

school will get her and her money; and if she were like any other

child she'd tell how she's been treated, and all our pupils would

be taken away and we should be ruined. And it serves us right;

but it serves you right more than it does me, for you are a hard

woman, Bellatrix Black, you're a hard, selfish, worldly woman!"

And she was in danger of making so much noise with her hysterical

chokes and gurgles that her sister was obliged to go to her and

apply salts and sal volatile to quiet her, instead of pouring

forth her indignation at her audacity.

And from that time forward, it may be mentioned, the elder Miss

Black actually began to stand a little in awe of a sister who,

while she looked so foolish, was evidently not quite so foolish

as she looked, and might, consequently, break out and speak

truths people did not want to hear.

That evening, when the pupils were gathered together before the

fire in the schoolroom, as was their custom before going to bed,

Millicent came in with a letter in her hand and a queer

expression on her round face. It was queer because, while it was

an expression of delighted excitement, it was combined with such

amazement as seemed to belong to a kind of shock just received.

"What IS the matter?" cried two or three voices at once.

"Is it anything to do with the row that has been going on?" said

Ginny, eagerly. "There has been such a row in Miss Black's

room, Miss Andromeda has had something like hysterics and has had to

go to bed."

Millicent answered them slowly as if she were half stunned.

"I have just had this letter from Callisto," she said, holding it out

to let them see what a long letter it was.

"From Callisto!" Every voice joined in that exclamation.

"Where is she?" almost shrieked Hermione.

"Next door," said Millicent, "with the Indian gentleman."

"Where? Where? Has she been sent away? Does Miss Black

know? Was the row about that? Why did she write? Tell us!

Tell us!"

There was a perfect babble, and Astoria began to cry plaintively.

Millicent answered them slowly as if she were half plunged out

into what, at the moment, seemed the most important and self-

explaining thing.

"There WERE diamond mines," she said firmly; "there WERE!" Open

mouths and open eyes confronted her.

"They were real," she hurried on. "It was all a mistake about

them. Something happened for a time, and Mr. Snape thought

they were ruined-"

"Who is Mr. Snape?" shouted Hermione.

"The Indian gentleman. And Captain Silver thought so, too-and

he died; and Mr. Snape had brain fever and ran away, and HE

almost died. And he did not know where Callisto was. And it turned

out that there were millions and millions of diamonds in the

mines; and half of them belong to Callisto; and they belonged to her

when she was living in the attic with no one but Melchisedec for

a friend, and the cook ordering her about. And Mr. Snape

found her this afternoon, and he has got her in his home-and she

will never come back-and she will be more a princess than she

ever was-a hundred and fifty thousand times more. And I am

going to see her tomorrow afternoon. There!"

Even Miss Black herself could scarcely have controlled the

uproar after this; and though she heard the noise, she did not

try. She was not in the mood to face anything more than she was

facing in her room, while Miss Andromeda was weeping in bed. She

knew that the news had penetrated the walls in some mysterious

manner, and that every servant and every child would go to bed

talking about it.

So until almost midnight the entire seminary, realizing somehow

that all rules were laid aside, crowded round Millicent in the

schoolroom and heard read and re-read the letter containing a

story which was quite as wonderful as any Callisto herself had ever

invented, and which had the amazing charm of having happened to

Callisto herself and the mystic Indian gentleman in the very next

house.

Circe, who had heard it also, managed to creep up stairs earlier

than usual. She wanted to get away from people and go and look

at the little magic room once more. She did not know what would

happen to it. It was not likely that it would be left to Miss

Black. It would be taken away, and the attic would be bare and

empty again. Glad as she was for Callisto's sake, she went up the

last flight of stairs with a lump in her throat and tears

blurring her sight. There would be no fire tonight, and no rosy

lamp; no supper, and no princess sitting in the glow reading or

telling stories-no princess!

She choked down a sob as she pushed the attic door open, and

then she broke into a low cry.

The lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the supper

was waiting; and Argus was standing smiling into her startled

face.

"Missee sahib remembered," he said. "She told the sahib all.

She wished you to know the good fortune which has befallen her.

Behold a letter on the tray. She has written. She did not wish

that you should go to sleep unhappy. The sahib commands you to

come to him tomorrow. You are to be the attendant of missee

sahib. Tonight I take these things back over the roof."

And having said this with a beaming face, he made a little

salaam and slipped through the skylight with an agile silence

of movement which showed Circe how easily he had done it before.

**Chapter 19: Luna**

Never had such joy reigned in the nursery of the Large Family.

Never had they dreamed of such delights as resulted from an

intimate acquaintance with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar.

The mere fact of her sufferings and adventures made her a

priceless possession. Everybody wanted to be told over and over

again the things which had happened to her. When one was sitting

by a warm fire in a big, glowing room, it was quite delightful to

hear how cold it could be in an attic. It must be admitted that

the attic was rather delighted in, and that its coldness and

bareness quite sank into insignificance when Melchisedec was

remembered, and one heard about the sparrows and things one could

see if one climbed on the table and stuck one's head and

shoulders out of the skylight.

Of course the thing loved best was the story of the banquet and

the dream which was true. Callisto told it for the first time the

day after she had been found. Several members of the Large

Family came to take tea with her, and as they sat or curled up on

the hearth-rug she told the story in her own way, and the Indian

gentleman listened and watched her. When she had finished she

looked up at him and put her hand on his knee.

"That is my part," she said. "Now won't you tell your part of

it, Uncle Severus?" He had asked her to call him always "Uncle Severus."

"I don't know your part yet, and it must be beautiful."

So he told them how, when he sat alone, ill and dull and

irritable, Argus had tried to distract him by describing the

passers by, and there was one child who passed oftener than any

one else; he had begun to be interested in her-partly perhaps

because he was thinking a great deal of a little girl, and partly

because Argus had been able to relate the incident of his

visit to the attic in chase of the cat. He had described its

cheerless look, and the bearing of the child, who seemed as if

she was not of the class of those who were treated as drudges and

servants. Bit by bit, Argus had made discoveries concerning

the wretchedness of her life. He had found out how easy a matter

it was to climb across the few yards of roof to the skylight, and

this fact had been the beginning of all that followed.

"Sahib," he had said one day, "I could cross the slates and make

the child a fire when she is out on some errand. When she

returned, wet and cold, to find it blazing, she would think a

magician had done it."

The idea had been so fanciful that Mr. Snape's sad face had

lighted with a smile, and Argus had been so filled with

rapture that he had enlarged upon it and explained to his master

how simple it would be to accomplish numbers of other things. He

had shown a childlike pleasure and invention, and the

preparations for the carrying out of the plan had filled many a

day with interest which would otherwise have dragged wearily. On

the night of the frustrated banquet Argus had kept watch, all

his packages being in readiness in the attic which was his own;

and the person who was to help him had waited with him, as

interested as himself in the odd adventure. Argus had been

lying flat upon the slates, looking in at the skylight, when the

banquet had come to its disastrous conclusion; he had been sure

of the profoundness of Callisto's wearied sleep; and then, with a

dark lantern, he had crept into the room, while his companion

remained outside and handed the things to him. When Callisto had

stirred ever so faintly, Argus had closed the lantern-slide

and lain flat upon the floor. These and many other exciting

things the children found out by asking a thousand questions.

"I am so glad," Callisto said. "I am so GLAD it was you who were

my friend!"

There never were such friends as these two became. Somehow,

they seemed to suit each other in a wonderful way. The Indian

gentleman had never had a companion he liked quite as much as he

liked Callisto. In a month's time he was, as Mr. Malfoy had

prophesied he would be, a new man. He was always amused and

interested, and he began to find an actual pleasure in the

possession of the wealth he had imagined that he loathed the

burden of. There were so many charming things to plan for Callisto.

There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and

it was one of his pleasures to invent things to surprise her.

She found beautiful new flowers growing in her room, whimsical

little gifts tucked under pillows, and once, as they sat together

in the evening, they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the

door, and when Callisto went to find out what it was, there stood a

great dog-a splendid Russian boarhound-with a grand silver and

gold collar bearing an inscription. "I am Fang," it read; "I

serve the Princess Callisto."

There was nothing the Indian gentleman loved more than the

recollection of the little princess in rags and tatters. The

afternoons in which the Large Family, or Millicent and Astoria,

gathered to rejoice together were very delightful. But the hours

when Callisto and the Indian gentleman sat alone and read or talked

had a special charm of their own. During their passing many

interesting things occurred.

One evening, Mr. Snape, looking up from his book, noticed

that his companion had not stirred for some time, but sat gazing

into the fire.

"What are you `supposing,' Callisto?" he asked.

Callisto looked up, with a bright color on her cheek.

"I WAS supposing," she said; "I was remembering that hungry day,

and a child I saw."

"But there were a great many hungry days," said the Indian

gentleman, with rather a sad tone in his voice. "Which hungry

day was it?"

"I forgot you didn't know," said Callisto. "It was the day the

dream came true."

Then she told him the story of the bun shop, and the fourpence

she picked up out of the sloppy mud, and the child who was

hungrier than herself. She told it quite simply, and in as few

words as possible; but somehow the Indian gentleman found it

necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the

carpet.

"And I was supposing a kind of plan," she said, when she had

finished. "I was thinking I should like to do something."

"What was it?" said Mr. Snape, in a low tone. "You may do

anything you like to do, princess."

"I was wondering," rather hesitated Callisto-"you know, you say I

have so much money-I was wondering if I could go to see the bun-

woman, and tell her that if, when hungry children-particularly

on those dreadful days-come and sit on the steps, or look in at

the window, she would just call them in and give them something

to eat, she might send the bills to me. Could I do that?"

"You shall do it tomorrow morning," said the Indian gentleman.

"Thank you," said Callisto. "You see, I know what it is to be

hungry, and it is very hard when one cannot even PRETEND it

away."

"Yes, yes, my dear," said the Indian gentleman. "Yes, yes, it

must be. Try to forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near

my knee, and only remember you are a princess."

"Yes," said Callisto, smiling; "and I can give buns and bread to the

populace." And she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian

gentleman (he used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes)

drew her small dark head down on his knee and stroked her hair.

The next morning, Miss Black, in looking out of her window, saw

the things she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. The Indian

gentleman's carriage, with its tall horses, drew up before the

door of the next house, and its owner and a little figure, warm

with soft, rich furs, descended the steps to get into it. The

little figure was a familiar one, and reminded Miss Black of

days in the past. It was followed by another as familiar-the

sight of which she found very irritating. It was Circe, who, in

the character of delighted attendant, always accompanied her

young mistress to her carriage, carrying wraps and belongings.

Already Circe had a pink, round face.

A little later the carriage drew up before the door of the

baker's shop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just as

the bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking-hot buns into the

window.

When Callisto entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her,

and, leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a

moment she looked at Callisto very hard indeed, and then her good-

natured face lighted up.

"I'm sure that I remember you, miss," she said. "And yet-"

"Yes," said Callisto; "once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and—"

"And you gave five of them to a beggar child," the woman broke in

on her. "I've always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at

first." She turned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her

next words to him. "I beg your pardon, sir, but there's not many

young people that notices a hungry face in that way; and I've

thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss,"-to Callisto-

"but you look rosier and-well, better than you did that-that-"

"I am better, thank you," said Callisto. "And-I am much happier-

and I have come to ask you to do something for me."

"Me, miss!" exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. "Why,

bless you! Yes, miss. What can I do?"

And then Callisto, leaning on the counter, made her little proposal

concerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns.

The woman watched her, and listened with an astonished face.

"Why, bless me!" she said again when she had heard it all; "it'll

be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working-woman myself and

cannot afford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of

trouble on every side; but, if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say

I've given away many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon,

just along o' thinking of you-an' how wet an' cold you was, an'

how hungry you looked; an' yet you gave away your hot buns as if

you was a princess."

The Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and Callisto

smiled a little, too, remembering what she had said to herself

when she put the buns down on the ravenous child's ragged lap.

"She looked so hungry," she said. "She was even hungrier than I

was."

"She was starving," said the woman. "Many a time she's told

me of it since-how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a

wolf was a-tearing at her poor young insides."

"Oh, have you seen her since then?" exclaimed Callisto. "Do you

know where she is?"

"Yes, I do," answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than

ever. "Why, she's in that there back room, miss, and has been

for a month; and a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to turn

out, and such a help to me in the shop and in the kitchen as

you'd scarce believe, knowing how she's lived."

She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and

the next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the

counter. And actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly

clothed, and looking as if she had not been hungry for a long

time. She looked shy, but she had a nice face, now that she was

no longer a savage, and the wild look had gone from her eyes.

She knew Callisto in an instant, and stood and looked at her as if

she could never look enough.

"You see," said the woman, "I told her to come when she was

hungry, and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do; and I

found she was willing, and somehow I got to like her; and the end

of it was, I've given her a place and a home, and she helps me,

and behaves well, and is as thankful as a girl can be. Her

name's Luna. She has no other."

The children stood and looked at each other for a few minutes;

and then Callisto took her hand out of her muff and held it out

across the counter, and Luna took it, and they looked straight

into each other's eyes.

"I am so glad," Callisto said. "And I have just thought of

something. Perhaps Mrs. Sprout will let you be the one to give

the buns and bread to the children. Perhaps you would like to do

it because you know what it is to be hungry, too."

"Yes, miss," said the girl.

And, somehow, Callisto felt as if she understood her, though she

said so little, and only stood still and looked and looked after

her as she went out of the shop with the Indian gentleman, and

they got into the carriage and drove away.

**Author's Note: Well, there's my first fanfic complete. This is dedicated to my awesome friend ****jisko2jisko****, who is like my big sister. So, how was my attempt? Awesome? Good? Okay? Bad? Terrible? Tell me in a review! Constructive criticism is welcome! Flames will be used to roast chicken for my dinner. **

**p/s: If you are interested in my OCs****,**** here is some basic info on them. Callisto is pale, slim and petite with long black hair down to her waist and blue-gray eyes that look icy silver. She is a pureblood. Her mother was Narcissa Malfoy's cousin****,**** so she is related to Draco Malfoy. Her father is Morfin Gaunt's son, and Voldemort's cousin, so she is related to him and also descendant of Salazar Slytherin. She is a Parselmouth. Her parents' names are Christ and Aries Silver and her full name is Callisto Diana Silver. She is a quite a spitfire, hot-tempered, sharp-tongued, harsh, bordering on insolent sometimes, rash, impatient, impulsive and sometimes rather headstrong and cruel. But she is also brave, loyal, understanding, protective, intelligent, cunning, and can be kind and compassionate. Circe is also slim, but more tanned and taller than Callisto with long brown hair to her mid-back and bright cerulean blue eyes. She has an older brother, Jerome and younger twin siblings, Mercury and Lilith. She is a half-blood. Her parents' names are Adrian and Astria Falcon and her full name is Circe Stephanie Falcon. She is motherly, caring, friendly, cheerful, hardworking, smart, level-headed and a quick thinker. But she is also rather naive, sometimes too kind, a little clueless, can be lazy and sometimes immature. Callisto and Circe are best friends. You'll see them again in a story that I'm currently working on.**

**I bet you're all bored of my chattering now so until we met again in another story! Ciao! **

**XOXO,**

**Foxglove.**


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